


Orbits, Book 5: Purity

by TunnelRabbit



Series: Orbits [4]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Airbending & Airbenders, Avatar spirituality, Backstory, Bigotry & Prejudice, Cross-cultural, Detective Noir, Earth Kingdom (Avatar), Elections, Electoral politics, Engineer Sokka, Environmentalism, F/M, Family, Fire Lord Zuko, Fire Nation (Avatar), Fire Nation Royal Family, Forbidden Love, Four Nations, Growing Up, Healer Katara, International Relations, Kyoshi Island, Love is complicated, Marriage, Multi, Nationalism, Old People In Love, Peace, Politics, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-War, Professional Suki, Racism, Sex is too, South Pole, Southern Water Tribe, Toph Being Awesome, Worldbuilding, Yu Dao, mixed marriages, we've left the comics behind now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-22 00:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14296695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TunnelRabbit/pseuds/TunnelRabbit
Summary: It is four years since the end of the Hundred-Year War. The original Aang Gaang is scattered, trying to heal the wounds of war wherever they find them. But not everyone shares their dream of peace and partnership. And when Azula steps back in the ring, the Purity Movement makes its move to return the Fire Nation to glory.This is the sequel toBook 4: Harmonyand begins about two months after Ten-Minute War of Yu Dao.NEW:Ch. 10: The HitToph meets cute, talks politics, and witnesses a murder.





	1. DAUGHTERS:  Her Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> Like Book 4, most of the chapters in Book 5 are standalone stories (with the occasional cliffhanger), but the arcs are arc-ier and charted out on longer trajectories this time. Everything is going somewhere, and everyone will eventually intersect. Sometimes with fireworks.
> 
>  _Note about dates:_ In my reckoning, Year 0 is the year of Sozin's Comet and Zuko's coronation. Year 1 begins about 4 months later at the new year (10 days after the Solstice, like ours). And Northern Hemisphere seasons are the reverse of the Southern Hemisphere--I've decided the equator runs through Omashu, with the Fire Nation Capital just north of it.
> 
> Table of Contents at end of work....

 

 

“Azula”

She pricked her ears. Steel sang in that voice, but she could not see the person's face. Azula sat at a table under a green-shaded lamp in a circle of light. Qi-blocked, she could make no other light and the speaker stood in darkness.

“Pull yourself together.” There was no sympathy. No pity. And no room for refusal.

Azula straightened her spine. No one had spoken to her like this since the Failure.

“The Fire Nation is under threat. Your brother is leading it to ruination. He has forfeited our colonies, castrated our military, and welcomed impure blood into the fatherland. He rejects the spirit of our warriors, and denies their will to fight. They sit at home like old women, weaving shrouds of their bitterness.”

The clarion voice rang in her skull.

“Your brother holds the Avatar as his closest ally—the Avatar who violates the sacred division of the elemental races—the Avatar who champions _peace_ above else.” She spat the word “peace” as if it were toxic. “Pacifism is cowardice, Azula. You know this in your blood—the blood of the _true_ Fire Lords. Yet you have abandoned your nation—to _him.”_

That blood, _her_ blood, stilled in horror, leaving her head spinning and her limbs tingling. This was true. Her failure had not ended when she entered the Sanitorium. It had continued until this moment.

“I have. I am responsible. You speak the truth,” she whispered hoarsely. If not for the table, she would have been on her knees, head pressed to the floor.

“You lost a battle, but your destiny is still before you. Begin again. Princess Azula, stand and reclaim your birthright.”

The world snapped into focus and burst into color. She remembered who she was. Not the defeated sister, not a victim or a patient. Not crazy. She was Azula of the Fire Nation, destined for its throne.

Yet the darkness remained, outside the ring of lamplight. She knew that voice….

Azula stood, willing her inner fire to sear through her heart, incinerating the confusion of the last three years.

In a ringing tone, her royal voice, she demanded, “Who are you.”

A woman stepped into the light, and all the air escaped from the room.

“Mother?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Parts of this were paraphrased from Hitler's 1927 Nuremberg speech. (Uh-oh.)


	2. DAUGHTERS: Women's Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Year 4, end of January. Kotan Village, The South Pole._** _  
> (two months after the Ten-Minute War)_
> 
> _Katara settles into her new role as the South Pole's master waterbender, leaving behind her nomadic ways,_  
>  _and Suki tries to figure out if the Southern Water Tribe has a place for her._
> 
> _(Katara POV; Suki POV)_

 

水

Katara yawned and stretched, wriggling her fingers towards the clear sky. She filled her lungs with the crisp polar air; then, from the glacial meltwater coursing past her, twisted a rope of water that danced and sparkled in the sunlight. Bending it high into an extravagant arc, she filled two large waterskins for the household.

Kotan Village’s summer camp huddled behind her, a motley assortment of round-roofed huts and tents, threaded with muddy footpaths. Before her, the stream cut through color-splashed tundra to the ocean, which gleamed silver-gray across the horizon, broken only by icebergs of pure white—floating monuments to winter’s power. Beyond that lay the other nations, and the world she had left behind.

Every day, Katara made sure she was the first to rise. To fetch the water, prop open the smokehole, stoke the fire, and set a pot to boil while she prepared the family’s breakfast. Noto could then focus on getting her boys fed—Rakko and Miksa (by her first husband), and tiny Otok, born just months after her marriage to Hakoda. All Gran Gran needed to do was ease out her aching joints and be ready to hold the baby when Noto was done nursing her.

Not that Gran Gran was happy about this.

“Katara! I have told you to leave the cooking to me. I’m not dead _yet!”_

“It’s fine, Gran Gran. I’ve been doing this for years. I couldn’t _not_ do it.” Admittedly, she hadn’t done it for this many people since the war. And she had not minded all that much when her travels had made her a pampered guest from time to time. And she had been so exhausted when she’d arrived almost two months ago, and so grateful to be _home,_ that she had collapsed into her family’s arms and done little but sleep for days, never mind the midnight sun. She hadn’t realized how three years on the road had worn her down until she stopped.

But if she really _was_ home for good, which she might be, she had clear duties. “You deserve to be cared for, too, you know.”

Gran Gran grumbled a protest deep in her throat and straightened her back. “Noto, give me my granddaughter now. Sokka, stop canoodling and get out of bed.”

A shock of dark hair popped up out a pile of furs in the shadows. “What? Where? No canoeing here. Noodling. Nope.” He hastily scooted away from the other lump next to him and dragged himself out. Hakoda joined him with a yawn and the two men went out into the brisk summer morning to follow nature’s call.

“And Miss Suki. Please join the other women.” Apparently, Suki’s guest status had expired, in Gran Gran’s consideration.

“Sorry, Grandmother Kanna.” Suki rose gracefully and smoothed her hair down, sounding as if she’d been awake for hours, though clearly she had not. “I didn’t realize how late it was. My body doesn’t seem to know what to do with a sun that never sets.”

While she stepped out for a moment, Gran Gran addressed Katara. “We will see that the girl has work to do today. If she wants our Sokka in her bed,” and here, her brow furrowed disapprovingly, “she’s going to _earn_ him.”

“She hasn’t exactly been _lazy_ , Gran Gran,” Katara objected.

“Not what I said. But we don’t need to know if she can teach our boys to be warriors. We have Water Tribe men to do that—and Sokka is the best of them. We need to know if she can _feed_ them and keep a home for them. Because sure as the salty tides, Sokka cannot.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Katara sighed. Gran Gran sort of had a point. Suki was caring, responsible, shockingly efficient, and knew how to manage people better than anyone Katara knew—including several monarchs. But she couldn’t recall ever having seen her with a cooking spoon in her hand. It _was_ sort of necessary.

“Good morning, ladies,” Master Pakku stuck his head through the tigerseal-hide doorflap. He stepped inside, at Gran Gran’s brusque nod, and sat next to her. He kept an adjacent igloo, and he and GranGran were still engaged in probably the longest courtship in Water Tribe history. “What’s for breakfast?”

Suki came back in, and Katara handed her the spoon with an apologetic look. Suki started stirring at once. Katara guided her through the cooking and clean-up by handing her what she would need and hinting with a gesture or two when necessary. Suki had been observant enough the two months she’d been here to work out what needed to be done for the most part. After breakfast, the men and older boys were shooed outside and Katara busied herself stowing the sleeping furs and tidying the igloo for the day—taking rather longer than she needed to, to subtly supervise her friend.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Suki stacked the last clean pot by the fire and stood to leave. Gran Gran blocked her path and handed her a stack of hides, with a coil of sinew and a selection of bone needles and awls balanced on top.

“Oh.”

“Katara needs to set up her new practice. A ship bringing patients from Kivallit City is expected in a couple of days, as you’ve surely heard. We will assemble the hides for her new healing hut.”

“Of course, Grandmother Kanna.”

“Sit with me, Suki. I will teach you to sew like a Southern Water Tribe woman.”

Katara sidled past them as they settled down on the bench just outside the door only to be met with a pair of intensely eager, indigo eyes. She started.

“Anik! Good morning.” She didn’t know why he still made her jump. He met her this way more often than not. There was just something _different_ about him, that came across as almost feral. Or at least on a different plane from the everyday interactions of the other villagers. And no wonder, raised by a tiny band of refugees in total isolation from the rest of the world, in a secret, sacred mountain valley far from anywhere thought to be habitable.

“I’m ready to begin, Master Katara.”

“Of course you are, Anik.” She led the way north up the coastline of the bay, past the permanent ice shelf, to the mouth of a small river that flowed freely during the brief summer thaw, and they began to train.

Anik was not really all that different, as a waterbender, from Katara before she had left the South Pole in search of a master. But he was several years older than she had been then—21 to her 14—and already very good at bending in certain, specific ways. He could heat, cool, and freeze water—and in fact, was much better than Katara at heating, presumably because he’d grown up around a hot spring. Katara couldn’t quite grasp how he did it, but then temperature control was sort of an internal thing anyway.

He could pull, shape and direct small amounts of water, with idiosyncratic swirly hand movements. They were unlike anything she’d seen any bender do, but she didn’t mess with what worked. He could do a lot of basic domestic tasks this way, like transporting water, stirring soup, washing. And he didn’t seem to mind that this was women’s work. The Ippigak community seemed to have pretty much dispensed with the division of men’s and women’s labor over the years; whoever could do a thing, did that thing. Which seemed entirely reasonable to Katara.

As a hunter, Anik had found some clever ways to use waterbending. He could trip animals up, freeze an ice sheet under them so they lost their footing, smother them with a face full of snow—that sort of thing.

In power, precision, and complexity, however, he had a long way to go. Those required physical and mental discipline and rigorous practice, not to mention the knowledge of what _could_ be achieved and how. In other words, training.

So Katara began teaching him the forms, as Pakku had taught her, but without the pressure of a desperate war mission, they had time to refine them. She’d skipped a lot of nuance during the war, and now checked back with Master Pakku for tips on the best sequence, and to fill in the intermediate steps. Willing to help, he nonetheless insisted that Katara be Anik’s primary teacher. “You’ll learn as much as he will,” Pakku insisted.

“Almost, Anik! But like this.” Katara circled her arms in front of her as her feet anticipated the next move, seamlessly transforming the water from a spinning ball into a waterwhip, which she brought around and down fluidly, but with enough force to strike a deep gouge in the soft earth. “You see, it’s three figures, but if you transition your hands and your feet at the same time, it will be choppy. It shouldn’t _look_ like three steps. Or feel like it. You need to drive the momentum from one move to the next so that the energy builds instead of dissipates. Get it?”

Anik watched her with unwavering focus, unselfconsciously shadowing her movements as she did them. “Yes, I think so.”

He drew himself up and settled into a proper bending stance, then repeated exactly what she had done. It was perfectly correct, and not at all right. She frowned, arms folded, trying to work out the problem.

“Ok…your body is doing all the right movements, but the essence isn’t there. Remember: it’s about the _water_ , not the sequence. Um, imagine that your qi is the water and the water is your qi. Try it again.” This was new territory for her as a teacher, stuff she hadn’t had to explain to Aang. Maybe she'd learned it from Aang herself.

Katara stood behind him and with the palm of her hand, traced a line from the center of his lower back along his arm as he moved through the form, following the trajectory out into the stream of water as if it were all one: the qi, the movement, the water. Her hand danced through the water as it formed into a whip, and then she realized it was under her control, not his, and reeled it in.

She sighed. “It’s like—it’s like your mind isn’t…. You aren’t _willing_ it to happen, you’re following _me_. The water is _yours_ , Anik. You can’t think about me at all.”

His eyes darted to hers, wide with consternation. “But you’re my teacher!”

“Yes, but the object of waterbending isn’t to obey your teacher. It’s to _bend water.”_ That was obvious, right? How could that not be obvious? She hoped she didn’t sound as impatient as she felt.

“But how can I not think about you when you’re right here?”

“I don’t know, Anik.” _That’s between you and your brain and that ball of water._ She squinted at the sun. “Maybe we should call it for today. I need to get to work on my new healing hut, so you just take some time by yourself, just you and the water and your own body, no distractions.”

“Ok, Master Katara. I’ll try harder.”

“Just…let it flow, ok?”

She walked back to the village, knowing his eyes were following her every step of the way.

After the midday meal (which Noto prepared, while Katara watched the baby), Katara turned her focus to healing. The frame of her hut had already been built from whale bones and precious wooden posts by Sokka and Hakoda, with assistance from Anik and Rakko. In some ways, Anik was every bit the 21-year-old tribesman he should be—in hunting, he showed more savvy and skill than some of the older men. In other things, like sailing and construction, he was closer to 10-year-old Rakko in experience.

Suki and Gran Gran had finished the last of the hide coverings, and under Gran Gran’s sharp eye, the two young women spent the afternoon hanging the walls and roof, cinching them taut with braided seal-gut cording.

The sun had sunk a couple of degrees by the time they were done, heralding the first dusk of the season, which would fall near midnight.

“There. That’ll do.” Katara stood back, arms folded, and surveyed their work with satisfaction.

Suki gave her a squeeze around the shoulders. “Congratulations, Katara. Your own place, for your own career.”

Katara smiled back at her friend. Suki understood. She turned to Gran Gran, less sure of the older woman’s feelings, but was relieved to see a proud smile on her face, too.

“Just so, Katara, just so. You have earned every stitch of this place, and then some.” She held her arms out to her granddaughter, and Katara melted into them. Gran Gran was rarely this demonstrative. “I always wanted this for you, you know,” she said softly in her ear. She pushed her out to arms length to look her in the eye, the sinew returning to her voice. “I could not see how you would ever make it to the North Pole. The Fire Nation seemed even stronger than when I made the journey, and that was….” She shook her head, momentarily at a loss for words.

"And you let us go anyway." Katara tried to imagine shoving Otok out into a canoe, not knowing if she would ever see her again, and saw Gran Gran's strength in a new light. 

“And even if you made it, how would you get through to those old farts at the North Pole? I knew Pakku all too well, I _thought.”_ She cracked a smile and let out something that Katara could almost swear was a giggle. “Well. To say you’ve changed how I see the _world_ , my beloved granddaughter, would not begin to tell the story. And I am _so proud_ that you have come home to share your wisdom and mastery here and bring even little Kotan Village into this new world peace you’ve helped birth.” She sighed and held Katara’s eyes for a moment. “I only wish you could share this with your mother.”

Something seemed to stick in Gran Gran’s throat, and Katara could not answer for the lump in hers. So she just threw her arms around Gran Gran again and hung on until she could stem the tears.

Suki cleared her throat, and Katara, looking up, thought her eyes looked a little watery, too. “I guess we should start stocking it?”

“That can wait till tomorrow.” They turned and saw Mina standing behind them, watching fondly. “I think you all deserve an extra helping of sea prunes with your fried toothfish tonight. And I’ve made iceberry compote, too.”

水

* * *

扇

The next morning, while Katara trained Anik, Kanna took Suki berry gathering. First dusk was the sign to begin harvesting the wild iceberries, and from now until the equinox, the women would focus their efforts on gathering whatever plant-based foods the Antarctic could provide, Kanna explained to Suki, to nourish their bodies with as much fresh produce as everyone could eat now, and preserve everything else for the long, dark winter.

They did not go far, only to a hollow on the inland side of a low rise near the village, but Kanna was panting by the time they reached the berry thicket and begged a rest. Suki solicitously supported her as she lowered herself to the ground with a loud grunt, leaning heavily on Suki’s arm. Gran Gran’s health and endurance had showed marked improvement under Katara’s care, but perhaps she was having a bad day.

“Oof. What a disgrace I am. Can’t even walk myself to the berry thicket any more,” she grumbled bitterly.

“Rest here, Grandmother, and I’ll gather the berries.”

“You don’t know what to look for,” Kanna objected.

“Then I will bring back sprigs for you to identify for me.”

“No. We don’t damage the plants more than we have to. Green life is fragile here.” Kanna took a moment to arrange herself on the summer-squishy tundra. “Sit, Suki.”

Suki was relieved to see that she had managed to guide Kanna to a tussock that wasn’t as waterlogged as the spot she sat herself down on. Subtly wiping the dampness from the seat of her leather Water Tribe trousers and shifting herself to higher ground, she reassured the old woman, “The wisdom your years have earned you is an honor, Grandmother Kanna, not a disgrace.”

“Hmph. Pretty words.” She was silent for a few minutes, gazing out at the glacial peaks that cut across the horizon to the south.

“You are all warriors: Sokka, Katara, you. I expected that of Sokka, I accept that Katara has earned that honor. And you understand what that means maybe better than either of them. Better than me, no doubt.”

“Could be. I was trained from the age of five. It was all I knew, and all I wanted to know. I had nothing else, after all. It was your grandchildren—Sokka, especially—who opened up a wider world to me.”

Kanna chuckled to herself. “How ironic. But Suki, do you know what it is to be a healer?”

That took her a little off-guard—not the direction she thought the conversation was going. “Uh, no, I don’t suppose I do. Only what I’ve learned by observing Katara. I mean, I know what healers _do_ , of course, and what an extraordinary one she is.”

“Mm-hm. Well, the Southern Water Tribe has not had one in living memory. But in the North, the master healer is held in highest regard, equal to the chiefs themselves. She doesn’t overstep into the chief’s or village headman’s business—she doesn’t govern, you understand—but she is easily the equal of the war leaders, in her own realm. Katara will now hold a status as high as Hakoda’s. Of course, in reality, he still outranks her, being her father and with so many more years on him. But you see.”

Suki nodded. It was new information, though.

“At least, that’s how it used to be when I was young at the North Pole. Now, with Katara our first healer in over two generations—in the _entire_ Southern Water Tribe—and a war hero and an international figure to boot, she’ll be practically worshipped. Swamped with patients and well-wishers and oglers—and apprentices eventually. We hope.”

“I guess so.” Suki wondered how big that boatload of patients was going to be.

“Healer women don’t get married,” Kanna said bluntly. “And they don’t raise children. They don’t have the time. They devote themselves to their craft and to the well-being of the village—in Katara’s case, of the whole tribe. And in return, they’re offered a certain amount of freedom. To live in their own household and pursue their… _interests_ …wherever they like. They’re not like other women.”

 _“Oh.”_ This _was_ going where she’d thought it would go. Suki sidelined a suspicion that Kanna was not actually having a such bad day after all.

“And—let me be perfectly clear about this—I expect great-grandchildren in this family. Lots of them. I’ll be long dead before Otok can produce any, though we can hope she’ll do well by my son. So tell me, Suki.” She turned to face her straight on. “How is marriage and motherhood looked upon among the Kyoshi Warriors?”

Suki looked her steadily in the eye for a moment, while her mind whirred with the best answer to give. Direct honesty was probably the only option for this woman. “Kyoshi Warriors don’t marry. And they don’t have children. They devote themselves to protecting and defending the island.” Yikes, that woman could ice a glare. “But I don’t think I’m properly a Kyoshi Warrior any more.”

Kanna raised an eyebrow. “How so? I can hardly imagine anyone more properly a warrior than _you.”_

Suki nodded curtly. “Sure. But I’m no longer properly of Kyoshi Island. I haven’t lived there in four years. I’ve grown to womanhood in the Fire Nation. And the fact that I have taken it upon myself to train the Earth Kingdom’s former enemy in the distinctive and, some could say, secret traditions of our order, to preserve the safety of the _Fire Lord,_ of all people….” She avoided thinking about this explicitly as much as she could. “Uh, it certainly puts my membership in question, and quite possibly my loyalty.”

Oh, dear. She had not improved her standing in the old woman’s eyes, which would be shooting ice daggers if they could. She hurried on.

“Which means—and Sokka and I discussed this at length,” she hurried on, “that I think I feel justified in carving my own path. That I am not bound to observe the strictest traditions of Kyoshi Warriorhood. The world is changing, fast, and we can’t assume that the old ways still make the most sense. We have to try out new ones. And for Sokka and me, well, maybe there’s a way we can be a two-warrior household. Both pursue our callings _and_ raise children. In two countries.”

Kanna had been listening with a thoughtful frown until Suki’s last statement pushed her eyebrows up to her hairline. _“Two countries.”_

“Weeeellll. We haven’t decided. Sokka would like to spend a little time on Kyoshi and learn more about my homeland. After here.”

“So this is only a _visit.”_

“It’s a…it’s a beginning.”

扇

* * *

水

Mina and Katara worked in companionable silence, settling into the familiar rhythms of their childhood. They stocked the shelves of the healing hut with the carefully wrapped herbs and instruments Katara had brought from Yu Dao (where one could buy nearly anything). With special care, Katara displayed the silver box, engraved with diagrams of the chakras and lines of chi in the human body, in the center of the shelf arrangement. Zuko had bought it for her in Yu Dao the year after the war at the end of their unexpected Earth Kingdom adventure together. She was not sure what the gift was meant to represent; he had given no explanation, simply handed it to her. She only knew that it was precious to her.

The fire pit was placed just before the door, with a screen in front of it to block drafts and prevent any careless accidents upon entering, with a tidy arrangement of pots and utensils to the right of the door for cooking and medicinal preparations. Most Southern Water Tribe homes had the fire in the exact center. But Katara had modeled her healing hut on Yugoda’s and placed an examination platform there.

The platform was built of stone and planks. Beds in the Southern Water Tribe were normally pallets on the floor or raised hammocks made from stretched hides. But Katara requested precious teakwood from the Earth Kingdom for a ventilated platform from which her bending water would drain easily between the slats into a trough placed beneath.

To the left of the door, a row of cushions made a seating area. Kanna had warned, and Katara knew from her experience all over the Earth Kingdom, that spectators were inevitable where water healers were a novelty.

The young women also arranged a comfortable selection of furs on one side of the hut, screened by a curtain, where a couple of patients could sleep for longer convalescences, and another screened sleeping area opposite for Katara herself, though she figured she'd sleep with the family most nights. A small trunk containing her personal belongings was placed there as well, doubling as a bench or a table.

At the back of the hut, opposite the door, stood a large, handsome set of shelves, constructed of ship-building scraps by Sokka as a welcome-home gift to house her library of scrolls. It was mostly empty so far—just the few reference scrolls she had been carrying with her on Appa, plus a dozen or so she had bought in Yu Dao before departing. But she had left stashes in Zuko’s palace and with Yugoda at the North Pole, and had sent for them, now that she was established here. And there was still room for more. That satisfied her immensely.

“That’s it, then.” Katara brushed her hands on her tunic and stood back, surveying the room.

“To think we have a healer again.” Mina shook her head in wonder. “And it’s _you.”_ She looked up at her friend and Katara was discomfited to see nothing but awe in her eyes. Fortunately, the distance closed quickly and Mina reached out with her apple-cheeked smile and clasped Katara’s hand, swinging it back and forth just like when they were girls.

“Let’s dedicate this place with a pot of tea!” Katara bent some water into a kettle and hung it over the fire.

“Oh, how very sophisticated of you!” Mina teased, and plopped herself down happily on a short stool.

They sat sipping their imported jasmine tea, Katara sharing anecdotes about Uncle Iroh, to Mina’s delight.

“I want to meet this man. Invite him to Kotan!”

Katara laughed. “Yes, the Dragon of the West is bound to get a warm welcome here,” she joked, then paused thoughtfully. “Actually, he might. I have never seen a situation where Iroh couldn’t ingratiate himself. It’s kind of impressive.”

“So tell me about this _nephew_ of his.”

“The _Fire Lord,_ you mean?”

“Ugh, I can’t wrap my brain around that. If you’re going to tell me about your big, fat crush, you’re going to have to leave his _job_ out of it.” She flapped a hand around, like waving off a bad smell. _“And_ his nationality,” she added under her breath.

“Crush? What makes you think—?!” Katara blustered, cheeks heating.

“Katara, please. You may have seen the world and led a Fire Nation coup and whatnot, but you’re still my best girlfriend. Your eyes shimmer like the polar lights when you get one of his letters. Plus your voice gets all funny whenever you say his name.”

“Well, really, Aang is my heart, you know,” Katara deflected. “He’s off growing up on his own for a while—which he really needs to do, and I was so proud of him for making that decision—but I love him as much as ever. And now that he’s not a kid any more, well…let’s just say there might be more of him to love.” She winked at Mina. Katara felt looser back home, where sex talk salted every chat when the men weren’t around. Elsewhere in the world, she was never sure how that kind of talk would be taken, so she kept it clean, just to be on the safe side.

“Allll that time together roaming the planet, and you never even got a good _look?”_

“Oh, come on. You know a _look_ won’t tell you what you need to know.”

Mina slapped her knee with a snort of agreement. Then she turned more serious. “But you have done something, right? Fooled around, with _someone?_ Or have you just been some kind of celibate strongwoman, fighting selflessly for the good of the world?”

Katara made a sour face. “Eh. The second one, pretty much. There was one guy, back in the war. But it didn’t go very far before I realized he was a gigantic asshole. Or maybe just too gutted by the war to understand what was right any more. May he rest with the spirits. Then there was this other guy—actually, I met him first, and I’m not sure he was even into me then—but I think he was later on at the Western Air Temple, but with Aang puppy-dogging me, and Zuko lurking around…and then _Dad_ arrived. Yeah, not really happening. Plus, that mustache he started growing….” She shuddered.

“And from then on, I was Aang’s partner. It was a little like being chaperoned, everywhere, by a pubescent guard-dog. And I could _not_ get into that voice-cracking, pimply stage.”

“Ok, fine, but what about _Zuko.”_

“Well, there was some possibility there. You know, logistically. But ‘honor’ is a big thing with that guy. He’d think he was ‘having his way’ with me, or something--like he wouldn't be able to follow through and make the proper commitment.” There was a lot more to it than that, Katara knew. A lot holding her back, too. There would have been no “fooling around” between the two of them—she could understand that now, after their silent confession in Yu Dao two months ago. Whatever was between them, it wasn’t simple, and it wasn’t light.

“But you wanted to? Is he hot?”

“He’s a _firebender_ , Mina,” Katara deadpanned.

“Oh, har-har,” Mina groaned. But she couldn’t help letting out an actual giggle—still a sucker for the worst puns. “But come on. Would you jump his bones? Everything else aside?”

Katara cleared her throat hesitantly, momentarily caught in the primness she wore in Zuko’s world. But it was only Mina. Who can you tell, if not your best girlfriend? “Hell, yes. He is gorgeous. The way he _moves_ is—is _unearthly_. And the way he wields a sword….” Her thoughts began to drift.

“Oh, it’s his _sword_ , is it?” Mina waggled her eyebrows, subtle as Sokka, then dropped them. “You know, I’ve never heard anyone else describe him that way. Usually it’s more like…‘terrifying.’”

“It’s just the scar. And I suppose he’s probably _trying_ to be intimidating most of the time. He needs to project power. Plus, you know, that Fire Nation-equals-evil idea, and all that. But that’s not true any more, not under Zuko. And to me, he’s just a friend, who cares about people, a lot.” She heard her voice soften. “To me, the scar reminds me how strong he his, how much he’s overcome, and still remained true to his heart.”

Mina regarded her with uncharacteristic quiet. “That’s more than a crush.”

Katara shrugged it off with a brusque roll of her shoulders. “So what if it is? It’ll never come to anything.”

“Well, yeah, you wouldn’t want to be Fire Lady. Can you imagine?” she commiserated, trying to lighten up." She shook herself. “And look at me, _I_ brought up the title again.”

“It’s inseparable, now, from who he is and everything he will be, everyone he touches,” Katara answered emotionlessly. “And he can’t approach _me_. Because I’m Water Tribe.”

“Seriously? Aren’t royals supposed to marry for alliances and all that?”

“Not in the Fire Nation. They’re big into bloodlines and purity and producing the perfect heirs. Zuko himself is the great-grandson of both Fire Lord Sozin _and_ Avatar Roku. Strategic breeding by Azulon.”

“Ick. Surprised he turned out ok. He turned out ok, right? He doesn’t have, like, three testicles or anything?”

“ _Mina!!_ All right, what about _you?_ Why aren’t you married yet?” Realizing she sounded like her Gran Gran, Katara softened her tone. “It isn’t still Sokka is it?” She really _was_ sympathetic about that.

“I’m _so_ over him,” Mina declared unconvincingly. “That ship sailed long ago, I’m not stupid. And now that I've met Suki....” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “I never had a chance, did I?”

Mina sounded so sad and small that Katara took her into her arms immediately. “He loves you, he does. It’s just that he and Suki share this…well, everything that’s happened since we left, you know?”

Mina pulled back and recovered herself. “Guess it’s lucky, really. Suki’s so sweet. I could have been up against Fire Princess Azula! The company you two keep!”

Katara shuddered. _“Not_ Azula. His balls shrink whenever she so much as glances his way, I'll bet."

“Is she hideous? A mannish harpy?”

“Hardly. She’s petite and quite beautiful. I mean, she’s Zuko’s sister.” Katara caught Mina’s knowing smile and hurried on. “But she _is_ terrifyingly evil. She’s locked up in an asylum now—stark raving.” 

Katara hadn’t seen her since the Agni Kai. The primal sobs, screams racking her body as if they came from her very bones, rattling under her chains—Katara’s chains—haunted her, rang through her nightmares even now. She knew that she hadn’t done this to Azula, that a single defeat—even an epic defeat on a world scale—doesn’t drive a girl to madness. The insanity was already deep within her, festering in dark places, and it was not hard to imagine why, though Katara did her best not to. Yet she couldn’t shake the guilt. Maybe she should have visited her in the Sanitorium, should have tried to help. Maybe she was afraid of what Azula would tell her.

“So there’s no one else?” Katara steered the conversation back on course.

“Who could there have been? I never get back to Kivallit City, there’s so much work to do here. Work, but no guys. And I was not going to marry someone old enough to be my _dad_ —one of the returning warriors. Now, though…” She smirked at Katara and made a peculiar swirling gesture.

“Anik? _Anik?_ Really?”

“I dunno, maybe. Those eyes, you know. And that man can _hunt_. Plus, it’d be no small thing to be married to Kotan’s second waterbender.”

“Technically the first. He’s older.”

“Meaningless. You’re his master, everyone knows that. How’s he doing?”

“Really well. He works so hard. Sometimes he works _too_ hard, and the strain blocks his qi. That’s what we’ve been working on this week. I’ve started teaching him some meditation techniques I learned from Aang and Zuko. You know, airbenders and firebenders have more in common than you would think.”

Mina’s eyes were glazing over. “Fine, but have you seen him with his shirt off yet?”

Katara hooted. “Oh, Mina. Never change. Sadly, no. He’d probably think it was disrespectful. But don’t worry, he’s built.”

“And you know this…?”

“My teaching style’s a little handsy.” Katara grinned wickedly.

 

* * *

 

The fire in the hearth was banked and the oil lamp snuffed. Katara wriggled under her own furs closest to the door and listened to the polyphony of soft breathing—high and quick, low and slow, accented with gentle snorts and snuffles.

Gran Gran had just fallen asleep after a great deal of shifting and grunting, trying to settle her old bones. The boys were long asleep, curled up together, limbs tangled. Noto was barely awake enough to feed the baby, for which she simply twitched aside her shirt and pulled Otok close, and Hakoda crawled into bed with them, spooning his wife. Katara tried to soothe the sharp twist in her own heart, reminding herself that her dad deserved to live for the future, same as all of them.

Out of respect for Gran Gran, Suki and Sokka had tried to sleep at opposite ends of the row of pallets—Sokka with the boys, Suki between Kanna and Katara’s furs. But it was a round house, and the two ends were only a few feet apart; the separation hadn’t lasted and Sokka now had Suki folded in his arms as they drifted off to sleep.

The family was together and their world was whole.

And Katara found her first moments to herself since morning. But she was so tired, too tired to direct her thoughts. Sensations and images crowded her mind at random, without order, without distinction between fiction and fantasy.

Golden eyes, sad and beautiful, longing for something—what? A throaty chuckle at something she said, even though no one else ever thought she was funny. Aang’s wiry arms wrapping her in his love. The wisdom he grounded her with sometimes, uplifted her others, that welled in his eyes when he told her to go home.

A blaze of fire, and an answering surge of qi through her body as she met the flames: an explosion of hissing steam. Swaying and swooping in time with the firebender’s push and pull, colliding and regrouping, the pleasure of the dance.

Zuko’s rasp in her ear murmuring her name, hot hands on gripping her waist. The light tug of an airbender’s hand in hers urging her to hurry, bubbling laughter, lifting her effortlessly.

The thrill in the belly when Appa leapt into the sky, the wind whipping her braids, stinging her face: freedom.

 

水

 


	3. DAUGHTERS: Azula's Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Year 4, February.  
> _** _**Royal Sanitorium, The Fire Nation.**  
>  (moments after Ch. 1) _
> 
> _The apparition was not Ursa. But it was definitely family._  
> 
> 
> _(Azula POV)_

龍

 

 _It is not real. Mother is gone,_ she silently recited the mantra the doctors had her use whenever Mother came by (whenever she told them, anyway). _She is not returning, not in the flesh, not ever._ Not standing there, at the end of the room, straight and serene, austerely robed, long straight hair loose on her shoulders and melting into the black of the silk. Different from her other appearances. She wore no crown this time. Why would she?—she was banished.

Mother laughed, and it was not Mother. This was a sensual, husky laugh. A timbre like Zuko’s, with a cruelty like Ozai’s. It was most definitely family.

The ice seized Azula’s throat again, in fear and excitement, but this time she was not frozen, she was stung. “Who are you. How dare you enter this place!” she hissed.

The Mother-woman only laughed harder. “My dear Azula,” she smiled. “Don’t you know me? I know _you_. I have always known you. And _I_ have always _loved_ you.” _Mother’s_ love had no menace, only disappointment.

 _A hallucination. It was a hallucination,_ Azula reminded herself. Hallucinations can be whatever they want to be. Vivid— _real,_ to an unprecedented degree. But her mother did not have an evil twin. Real people did not have evil twins, and her mother was, or had been, a real person. And thus did not have a one, not a real one. Logical.

Logic also dictated that if Mother’s twin were evil, then Mother was good. And if Mother was good, then her opposite—Father—must be evil. And Father was not evil, Father was righteous and strong. Ergo, Mother did not have a twin, evil or otherwise. That followed, did it not?

The woman stepped forward more fully into the light and Azula now saw her face: older (of course), creases at the mouth and forehead. But the cheekbones were more angular, the jaw more defined. Eyes much colder, not gold at all, but brass-brown. And she was tall—taller than Ursa, taller than Azula. Not a twin, then. _Abandon that line of reasoning. Reassess._

Azula came around the table, her back to the lamp that hung from the ceiling below eye-level, meant to illuminate those sitting at the table and leave the rest of the room in shadow—for questioning, or counseling. The apparition stepped forward to meet her, too close, looking down her nose at the princess. Warm breath stirred the hairs around Azula’s face. No one might do that to her but the Fire Lord. Indignity blazed now, ice vaporized.

“If you will not say, then _leave.”_ She took a breath to call for the guards, who always made everything disappear, and felt her qi move within her, not blocked after all. The woman clamped a cool, dry hand over Azula’s mouth. She _touched_ her. What a stupid thing to do to a master firebender.

“I am Siyaar.”

Azula stopped her dragon’s breath—almost. Siyaar did not wince; only glanced at her palm, red and starting to blister.

She’d _touched_ her. That was new.

The silence waited for a response.

“And how is it, _Siyaar_ , that you presume such familiarity with me?”

Something dangerous flashed in the Mother-woman’s eyes—anger or hurt—before it was concealed. “You don’t know?” She scanned Azula’s face for confirmation. “You don’t know. Well, Azula, I am your—“ she chuckled, as if the joke had just struck her “—well, I am your _auntie!”_

Azula narrowed her eyes, trying to see more clearly by filtering out the darkness around them. It just felt murkier. “An auntie is a sister. I am the only sister….” She tried to keep the question mark off the end.

Again, there was a barely perceptible pause that Azula was sure gave away Siyaar’s confidence as mere bravado. “No…Ursa is a sister, too.” She spoke as if to a child.

Azula bristled. _“Was,_ you mean.” Ursa was a _mother._

“ _Is,_ would be the correct verb tense I believe, irritatingly enough.”

_Incorrect._

“Azula.” Siyaar seemed to assess her. “They have all abandoned you—your mother, your father, your brother, your uncle. But I, _your mother’s sister_ , have come for you.” She walked around the princess and sat at the table in the seat Azula had occupied. “Shall we call for some tea and discuss the situation rationally?”

“You are flesh and blood.” Azula was not ready for tea.

Siyaar ejected a stream of air through her nostrils, very short, but Azula knew it was impatience. “I am.”

“You are not a firebender.” A princess does not ask, she pronounces.

“Also correct. I am more of a… _mindbender_ , let’s say. I find that far more useful, to be honest. I believe you and I may have that aptitude in common, my little one —your impressive firebending notwithstanding.” Siyaar smiled. _Motherly._

“I have not been qi-blocked.”

“Not this time. _I_ would never quell your power, Azula.” Proud. More like Ozai. Siyaar rang the bell for service. “Do sit down.”

An orderly popped his head in the door. “Dr. Nari?”

“Tea service, if you would, Puka. Licorice and ginger would be called for today, I believe.”

“Very well.”

“And you are a doctor here.” Azula frowned at the improbability.

Siyaar leaned over the table conspiratorially. “Don’t tell,” she whispered. “I’ve been entertaining myself for weeks making up treatments for ailments I know nothing about. They think I’m a rare genius!” She tipped her head back and gave that throaty laugh again. Yes, that was rather funny. Azula allowed a half smile to acknowledge the humor.

When the tea was poured, Azula drew herself up in her seat. “You must explain. Begin.”

But Siyaar did not. She sipped her tea thoughtfully. Like a lady. Like a strategist. Watching Azula, reading every twitch and flicker.

Azula held back everything, waiting. A princess’s demands are to be met.

“Have they treated you well here, little one?”

“I am as you see me.”

“Indeed. I will be more specific. Are you healthier, clearer of mind and soul than when you arrived? Have they treated you as you wish to be treated?”

She lacked a baseline. When had she arrived? How long had she been drowning? Two years. No, five. When had the flood begun? Once, she had had power—this was certain. Now she did not.

“No. But surely you know this, _mindbender.”_

“I wish to know what you know.”

Azula flailed inside, tossed by the waves. Not answerable. “But it is I who asked _you_ to explain. And unless you are _Ozai’s_ sister as well, I clearly outrank you _. Explain.”_ She took refuge in her superiority.

Siyaar narrowed her eyes shrewdly. Resentful—a climber and a schemer, no doubt. “Very well,” she said more coldly. “I am Siyaar, Ursa’s elder sister. I was exiled from the Fire Nation before you were born—by Fire Lord Azulon, of course. To your father, I have ever been loyal, and he puts his trust in me.”

 _“Does_ he?” That verb tense again. Ozai was not alive, not dead. Much like Mother.

“He does.” Siyaar reached into her sleeve, pulled out a small scroll, and extended it to her.

Azula’s fingers shook slightly as she unfurled the paper, fresh and white, no larger than the span of her hand. Her father had never written her, not since her Failure. The brushstrokes were unmistakably his:

> _Recover her, Siyaar. She is our last hope._

龍

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Always love your comments!


	4. COMMITTED: The New Fire Nation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Year 4, February.  
>  _** _**The Fire Nation Capital.**_
> 
> _Zuko at court; Aang among the people._  
> 
> 
> _(Zuko POV; Aang POV)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yeah, this is a long one, turns out.

 

火

 

“…In fact, the Agricultural Ministry fears another, even more serious rice shortage next season in the Naman Valley, given these multiple sources of contaminated water.”

Zuko sat on the dais of the throne room, framed by flickering rivers of flame, holding court: report after report from droning officials, broken up only by supplications from his subjects on matters of justice of one kind or another. But most, whether bureaucrat, noble, or commoner, approached him with a honeyed deference that set everything in an optimistic frame. This one was refreshingly grim.

“That is to say,” Minister Nishi continued earnestly, “the runoff from mining operations in the Western Mountains, uncontrolled waste disposal into various tributaries upriver, and industrial pollutants leaching into the groundwater locally.”

“And that bodes ill for us all,” Zuko inferred, “since Naman is the rice bowl of the nation.”

“Indeed. And the Naman Valley is far from the only agricultural region to be suffering deleterious effects of this sort. That is why the Ministries wish to stress the importance of developing a coordinated purification program.”

“I am persuaded of the urgency. What sort of solutions have been discussed? And why is the Ministry of Lands and Waters bringing this report to me instead of Agriculture?”

“Your Majesty has honed in on the crux of the matter,” Nishi responded with an only slightly obsequious bow. “Agriculture suffers the consequences and impacts the nation in economic terms, but the problem affects our lands much more broadly. Forest cover, freshwater supplies, topsoil stability, biodiversity—all have taken damage from the extravagant and thoughtless industrial production during the war, particularly in its concluding years. While Fire Lord Ozai oversaw astonishing accomplishments in military technology and capacity, we are now facing the costs of those advancements. And the speed with which they were pursued.”

“I see.” Zuko rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, trying to loosen the tension rising in his shoulders. Everyone was aware of the industrial pollutants in the environment, everyone with eyes—or a nose, for that matter. About a year ago, he’d signed off on a survey of the damage to agricultural production, but somehow it had expanded far beyond his original intentions—and the findings were clearly worse than he’d anticipated. He suppressed an urge to storm off and—do what? The best thing he could do was what he was doing right now. He wished it could have involved setting something on fire.

“A preliminary report is contained in this document. Once you have approved it, we shall prepare a report of record.”

“And recommendations?”

“Those shall follow, should you desire them of us.”

“Of course I shall!” _Don’t shout at Nishi. He’s part of the solution, not the problem._ Zuko exhaled a silent puff of pure heat. “Thank you for your hard work, Minister Nishi, and to your colleagues as well. Just—hurry. Dismissed.”

The Minister of Lands and Waters and his aides departed and Zuko’s secretary Amanu briefly consulted a sheaf of paper on a side desk.

“Yonish is next, Your Majesty.”

“But we’re behind schedule.”

“True, but you’ve rescheduled her three times in a row.” Amanu’s eyes darted nervously towards the antechamber where she would be awaiting her audience.

“Then she understands where her concerns fall in my priorities,” Zuko growled.

“No doubt.” Amanu, swallowing hard, did not move toward the door. “Nevertheless, I _strongly_ urge you to take this meeting, Your Majesty.”

The Fire Lord steeled himself for another infuriating conversation with the royal matchmaker, who, beneath a veneer of propriety, combined the shameless prurience of a gossiping fishwife with the shrewd mind of a pai sho master, plotting out a complex, long-term strategy for procuring him the ideal Fire Lady. The latter quality was one he valued in every other aspect of governing, but he still dreamed of a personal life that was, well, _personal_. And unfortunately, the person he wanted was not someone he could have.

“Fire Lord Zuko.” Yonish bowed deeply. “How kind of you to see me again.” Her syrupy tone and ingratiating smile did not conceal the obvious sarcasm in her words or the determination in her bright eyes (one of which went slightly wall-eyed).

“You have five minutes, Yonish.”

Her smile never wavered, but he thought her wandering eye pinned him with a baleful glare—it was hard to be sure, actually. “I’ll do my best to be concise, Your Majesty. But given the impact the choice of a Fire Lady will have on your life—indeed, on the nation—I do _hope_ you will do this search the honor of a longer consultation with me soon.”

“Proceed.”

“I have collected another set of candidates for your consideration, steering away from those who too closely resemble Lady Mai now—since you finally articulated your feelings on the matter.” She presented a stack of miniature portraits to Amanu with a courteous nod. He set them in front of Zuko, who ignored them.

“I took it upon myself to interview a few of your closer friends—“

“Who?” What close friends did he have in the capital?

“Well, the Avatar, for one. Since the opportunity presented itself.”

“You interviewed _Aang?”_ Of course she had. And of course he’d talked.

“He was most responsive. I must say, I like him far more than I expected to—quite a charmer! _He_ would be easy to find a match for. That is, if there were still any—”

“You were saying?”

“Since the Avatar, as well as your uncle Prince Iroh and Lieutenant Ty Lee, hinted at your past interest in foreign ladies, I have selected a few candidates of more exotic appearance, some with colonial backgrounds. For the cultural element, that is. Needless to say, they are all impeccably well bred, of pure Fire Nation stock.”

“’Exotic appearance?’ What does that even mean?”

“Lighter hair, some as light as chestnut, perhaps curls. Darker complexions—not too dark, of course. Round eyes. Not _traditional_ beauties, but they each have their charms.” She reached over and began shuffling through the portraits on Zuko’s desk. “I even included a couple of non-benders, though I must point out that it is a concern at court that you have not shown more attraction to the fire-bending candidates, who are of course overwhelmingly favored.”

He was not going to yell at her. That would solve nothing. _He would not yell._ Clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt, he barked, “That will do, Yonish.”

She did not back down. “I do beg your pardon, Your Majesty, I am only trying to find a girl who would please you—the best match for you and for the nation. If I could just—“

_“Dismissed.”_

With a barely concealed huff, Yonish bowed rather more curtly than she had the first time and turned on her heel. Zuko was exceedingly proud of himself for not incinerating the portraits until after she had left the room.

With her— _and_ her offensive images—gone, he leaned back in his seat with a sigh of relief, stretching his arms wide, a momentary indulgence in relative privacy after a long day of dignified audiences.

“Will you retire to your chambers before dinner?”

And the moment was gone. He’d nearly forgotten about the dinner. Zuko stood and straightened his silks. “What do you think, Amanu ? Good enough?”

His secretary looked him up and down with a skeptical eye.

Zuko sighed again, this time in resignation. “Fine. Have Afi meet me upstairs.”

An hour later, topknot redressed and oiled to shine rivaling that on his crown, and wearing a high-necked satin tunic of a red so deep it looked nearly black, secured at the waist with a wide belt of solid gold links, and paired with scarlet-piped, black velvet boots and a light silk cloak that hung below his knees (purely for the effect—he knew he was going to overheat), he paused outside the enormous double doors. They flung open at his approach as if of their own accord, and he stepped through. As his foot touched the first of the wide, red-carpeted stairs that descended into the royal banquet hall, everyone beneath him fell to one knee. He surveyed the courtiers gathered in scattered knots about the room, doubtless engaged in all manner of polite fictions with each other before his interruption. Like Zuko, they were dressed formally in reds and blacks, but not their finest. It was merely an ordinary royal dinner, a routine receiving of the nobility currently in the capital.

After acknowledging their obeisance, Fire Lord Zuko continued down the stairs into their midst. The tables were at the far end of the long room, and his own table, set on an elevated dais, was the furthest, placed along the opposite wall to preside over the rest. It always felt like running a gauntlet—though he would welcome an actual gauntlet, where they were simply trying to kill you, rather than this jaguar-hornet’s nest of courtly innuendo.

His father, when he was Fire Lord, would simply sweep through the banquet hall, all billowing robes and godlike hauteur, and require courtiers to supplicate themselves before his table. Part of Zuko (quite a large part, actually) wanted to do the same. But no, he had to make everything as hard as possible for himself. He had to actually try and _relate_ to these people.

“Good evening, Fire Lord Zuko.” A thin man of middling years stepped forward with an obsequious bow—almost, but not quite, directly in his path, shadowed by his wife.

“Good evening, Lord Wei, Lady Siram.” Zuko concealed his relief at having remembered their names; he didn’t see them often. Which was because…because they spent most of their time on their estate in…Naman Province. How timely. “Have you just returned to the Capital?”

“We have, Your Majesty,” Wei replied with a courteous nod.

“It is such a pleasant time to be here in the Caldera,” Lady Siram added.

“Indeed. Before the summer’s heat,” Zuko responded automatically.

“Where you rule here on high, amidst the heavenly breezes. Why, they must seem like colonies of ants to you, far below.”

“Oh, I don’t know, it can still get pretty steamy—“

“And what can we do,” Lady Siram interjected earnestly, “but nudge the ants this way or that, according to Your Majesty’s will and wisdom, hoping they fall in line for the good of the nation.”

“As any successful ant colony does in nature, working for the good of the whole.”

“I have always wondered—have you not?—why it is that we speak of ants living in _colonies.”_

“Yes, as if they were sent out from some original 'Ant Fatherland!'” Wei gave a droll chuckle.

“Um, I think it’s something to do with how ants propagate? And wouldn’t it be an Ant Motherland?” Wei and his wife exchanged a look—was that dismay?—and Zuko began to perceive that they were speaking of neither insects nor poetry. “Like…humans? Who also move around a lot?” He honestly had no idea where they were going with this. He should shut up.

“But ants never _return_ to an ancestral colony, do they?” Lady Siram inquired innocently, as if to marvel at such a thing.

 _Ah._ Naman had been one of the designated host regions for repatriated colonists during the Harmony Restoration. And now was threatened by food shortages.

Wei laughed more heartily. “How could that even work? They create new colonies to accommodate _growth_ and populate the world with ants.”

“There is a limit to the number of ants the rest of the world can accommodate,” Zuko ground out with a scowl, catching on, then forced himself back into the performance of gentility with a tight smile. “But no matter the species, we always welcome back our own, do we not?”

Wei nodded in agreement. “We do, we do.” His countenance drooped. “Unless they simply cannot be accommodated. Unless their mere _presence_ pollutes the very land that we treasure.”

“Unless we cannot even _recognize_ them as our own. I have seen an ant colony simply _devour_ other ants that they perceive as intruders! Really, what else are they to do? When the land could barely support the original ants in the first place?”

“You are clearly an avid naturalist, Lady Siram. You must meet Minister Nishi while you are here—of the Bureau of Lands and Waters? Your interests would mesh beautifully. He is actually an entomologist by training.” And also in need of local support for the upcoming environmental cleansing projects—which would clearly speak to the couple’s concerns. Or would, if they could stop insisting that the repatriated colonists were the source of contamination, which was clearly absurd, since the damage obviously preceded their arrival. (Not to mention the fact that Naman was always known for the _surplus_ they produced—“barely support” indeed!) Surely the Lord and Lady wouldn’t be able to convince anyone else of such a specious argument. Zuko made a mental note to check with Minister Obor on the how the new curriculum was faring in Naman schools.

Zuko became aware of a hovering presence at his elbow and turned to see a beautiful young woman, black hair cascading down her shoulders below an elaborate topknot. He could not help but scan the swell of her breasts (prominently showcased) and the way the scarlet silk of her dress swirled sinuously around her hips. He kicked himself for being obvious. But she bowed respectfully.

“Good evening.” Zuko recognized her…probably?

“Good evening, Your Majesty.”

“Of course. Always a pleasure.” Young, presumably unmarried. So that established her agenda. “Please do excuse me, Lord Wei, Lady Siram. My attentions are required by the Lady...?” Though he was not at all sure this would be an improvement.

“...Tahu of Sukra Province. I was presented to you at court last year. I wore a rose-colored gown trimmed in gold? It is an honor to be invited to dine with you at last.”

Last year. Had she been waiting for an invitation all this time? Zuko’s social secretary tended to those matters. “You are most welcome here, of course.” He cleared his throat. What else was there to say? He did not want to offer to escort her to her seat and give her the wrong idea.

She left him an opening, and just before the pause became awkward, continued. “The Capital is simply lovely. I do so enjoy the cultural life here—particularly the theater. It has positively _flourished_ since the end of the war! Are you a theatergoer, Your Majesty?”

Of course he was. Everyone knew that. He had his own theater box positioned where the entire audience and cast could see whether or not he was in attendance. Which he scarcely ever was, but it was nonetheless almost the only amusement he afforded himself.

“I am.”

“And have you had the chance to see _Song of the Sandbender_ yet?” Again, she certainly knew that he had not. “The new play from Gaoling. Don’t you just _love_ that we can now enjoy the arts from all over the world?”

“Indeed, and no incendiary invasions required for the privilege. Alas, I have not yet been able to spare the time. Would you recommend it?”

“Oh, absolutely. It’s so _exotic_. You simply must come out to see it, Your Majesty.”

“And you must make it a party!” a bombastic voice burst in.

Zuko jumped, and nearly took a bending stance before catching himself. “Madame Zhao! What a sur—honor. To see you here tonight. Again.”

“Where else would I be, Your Majesty? You know I would _never_ turn down an invitation.” Her tone was rather more aggressive than court manners usually allowed for and, Zuko was certain, sarcastic. Madame Zhao descended between them like a war balloon, turned out in festive yet militant vermillion, adorned with black trim sticking out in rather alarming spikes that Zuko resisted the urge to dodge.

Madame Zhao was, of course, Admiral Zhao’s mother. And as such had every reason to hate the sight of Zuko. It was commonly believed, though never spoken aloud in his hearing, that Zuko had personally slain Zhao at the North Pole. An understandable rumor, but so utterly incorrect—he had tried to _save_ the fool!—that he seethed at the injustice every time it was, or seemed to be, alluded to.

“A party, Madame Zhao? Why, how delightful.” Tahu was not delighted.

“I know for a fact my granddaughters would jump at the chance.” Madame Zhao beckoned to a cluster of young people a few feet away. “ _And_ my grandsons.”

Would she seriously want to match one of her family with _him?_ Status must trump everything in her eyes. Zuko restrained an urge to flee as the younger Zhaos swarmed over, each introduced in turn, not for the first time. Or the second. He still could not keep them straight.

Just before he was obliged to come up with some kind of a polite response—he did _not_ want to host a group outing in his theater box—a savior arrived.

“Nephew!” Iroh clasped his shoulder warmly. “Do excuse us, Madame Zhao, the ladies and gentlemen of your clan, and Lady Tahu.” He nodded courteously to each in turn. “I’m afraid I must steal the Fire Lord for a word with young Ruon-Jian for a moment.”

Iroh deftly extracted him and moved him up the floor. Glancing back, Zuko realized he had not yet made it three feet from the bottom of the stairs on his own.

“Zuko, why did you not escort that lovely young lady to her seat? You could be at your table by now.”

“I didn’t want to send the wrong signal!” he hissed back.

“That you’re a gentleman?” Zuko heard the irritation behind Iroh’s bright smile.

“That I’d be _interested!”_

“Zuko, courtesy is leagues from courtship. Just try to get yourself and everyone else through a pleasant evening.” Iroh sighed in exasperation. It was true, they went through some version of this argument at almost every court dinner.

“I _was_ trying,” Zuko grumbled.

“And I really do want you to speak to Ruon-Jian.”

Zuko had discovered he actually got along with the guy now, with the war and—more importantly—adolescence behind them. They never alluded to that miserable party on Ember Island, and he hoped they never would; Ruon-Jian probably wouldn’t dare, but Zuko had gone out of his way to be nice to him—at first, out of penance. But there was a reason Mai had been flirting with him: he was charming and basically a good guy, if a little self-absorbed.

And away from Chan (who never stirred himself from Ember Island if he could help it), Ruon-Jian was carving out a place for himself in the new Fire Nation, trying to build an international trading enterprise. It wasn’t going particularly well; like most of the nobility, he was raised and trained for a military career, not a mercantile one.

Zuko responded to Ruon-Jian’s formal bow with a friendly clap on the shoulder when he rose. “Good to see you again. How’s business?”

“Good to see you, Your Majesty. And thanks for asking.” He gave Zuko a rueful smile. “I keep thinking I’ve got the market cracked. But damned if I can ever figure out what those earthbenders will buy. This time I tried Yaku high-fired porcelain, but they turned up their noses and I sold at a loss. Who’da thought the Earth Kingdom kilns would be as sophisticated as ours?”

“As I’ve said before, Ruon-Jian, you need to _go_. Travel—and not just for profit. Experience the world for yourself.” Not for the first time, Zuko thanked his twisted fate for preparing him for this wild, new world of peace (which he had been pretty instrumental in bringing about in the first place, so maybe that was a bit circular…). In the Fire Nation, even the educated elite were woefully ignorant of the everyday realities of life in the other nations, and most didn’t care to learn. Even if Ruon-Jian’s motives were largely self-serving, Zuko appreciated his easygoing attitude and willingness to experiment.

“Have you considered the Water Tribes?” Iroh put in. “If you are looking for a market in need of fine manufactured goods…”

“The Water Tribes! Do they even have money?”

“They’re not savages,” Zuko reproved him. “The Southern Water Tribe in particular is in a hurry to rebuild their country, and are interested in the latest technologies to help them do so.”

“So perhaps not luxury goods,” Iroh offered, “but practical tools, machinery—Fire Nation quality.”

“I must say, that never would have occurred to me.” Ruon-Jian absently ran his fingers through his hair with a pensive frown.

“I would be happy to give you an introduction. Have Amanu remind me.”

“But really, I believe you must call us all to dinner now, Fire Lord Zuko.” Iroh turned to him with a slight bow, all courtly grace again.

“Indeed.” And Zuko swept up to his table and sat down, ignoring any further attempts to get his attention, which was all the signal needed for the court to take their seats and the servants to bring in the first course.

 

火

 

* * *

 

氣

 

Aang wandered the sunny maze of city streets. The Fire Nation Capital was lush with life, even in the middle of winter. Flowering vines climbed the row houses, cascading from balconies. Any untended patch of dirt overflowed with a profusion of happy weeds. Clusters of palm trees shaded the market squares. Ferns and air plants gave the rooftops unruly haircuts. And there were lots of bugs, humming and singing through the air.

This was Harbor City, of course, the lower half of the capital, where the regular people lived. Up the hill, Caldera City’s every blade of grass was tended and trimmed, and the brilliance of the color-coordinated flowers competed with gold leaf that adorned every architectural cornice and curl. Aang vastly preferred to be down here by the water, even if the air was clearer up there. These neighborhoods were _much_ friendlier.

He caught sight of a cluster of boys crouching at the mouth of an alleyway, huddled around something on ground. Every now and then a tiny burst of sparks would shoot up and the boys would shout encouragement. He leaned over their heads to get a peek. They were poking at something with sticks.

“Gah!!” The boy right in front of him jumped out of his skin and toppled over. Aang really had to work on making a little more noise with his feet. He didn’t _mean_ to sneak up on people. The boy looked up at Aang, ready to spring to his feet, then scuttled back in even greater shock, eyes darting up to the blue arrow tattoo. “Agni’s balls! Are you the _Avatar?”_

“Sure am.” Aang held out a hand to help the boy to his feet. “You can call me Aang, though. What’re you guys doing?”

The ring of boys had frozen, staring up at him, mouths agape. It gave Aang a moment to take in what they had been so focused on. Two phoenix beetles were contained within a ring cut from the middle of an old canister, facing off with talons raised. Two of the kids held painted sticks, which they’d clearly been using to prod the insects.

“Looks like you’re fighting them.” Aang said with a frown.

One of the older boys recovered himself with a gulp. “Um, yeah. It’s a tournament. Quarter-finals. We’re…um…yeah.” His voice trailed off as he registered Aang’s expression. He probably saw disapproval on his face, though Aang was actually more concerned about the wellbeing of the beetles than with scolding the boys.

He leaned over and gently bumped the boys’ sticks away. “Hey little fella. How’d you end up here?” He cupped a hand and let one of the phoenix beetles crawl onto it. The beetle’s coppery shell settled back into place, concealing the brilliant, iridescent barbed fan it had unfurled for battle. Where other beetles would have wings, these had only the showy fan, but the barbs could shoot sparks when the bug was agitated. A defeated a phoenix beetle would burst into flame, leaving nothing but a pile of ash. The promise of such a spectacle made it almost inevitable that kids would pit them against each other, but in the wild, phoenix beetles were peaceful creatures, avoiding each other as much as possible and rarely going beyond a threatening show of color when they met. Aang let this one crawl up and down his arm until it seemed calm. 

“Where do you live, little guy? Would you like to go home?”

“Hey, I paid good money for that one! He’s a proven sparker!” a surly kid protested.

The others shushed him down urgently. One gave him a shove. “It’s the _Avatar_ , you idiot!”

“So what? He’s barely older than us! He’s not even Fire Nation! He can’t just take our beetles!”

Aang turned to him with a conciliatory smile. “I know I upset your game. But when you think about it, what’s a little game, compared with that beetle’s entire life? I’m not taking your beetle away, I’m just giving it back it’s own freedom. You can’t own another living being, can you? Tomorrow, I’ll take it up in the hills around here and find it a suitable habitat.” He let the beetle burrow into a fold in his robes. It would stay there until it found someplace better to be.

“But what about _their_ beetle? You’re gonna take mine, but not theirs?”

“No, it’s ok! Here you go, Avatar Aang!” A slight boy with shaggy hair falling into his eyes popped up and held out the other beetle with both hands, ignoring a stifled squawk of protest from one of his friends. The second beetle scurried into a pocket of Aang’s robes on the opposite side.

“Thanks! What’s your name?”

“Muaj, Your Honor.” The boy gave a kneeling bow, one hand and one knee on the ground, as one would give to the Fire Lord.

“It’s just ‘Aang.’” He squatted on the ground to be at their level. “You guys do this often?”

“Nope. Huh-uh,” Muaj declared too quickly.

“Yeah, we do!” The youngest kid piped up.

“Dian!”

Dian looked back at Aang with furrowed brow. “What’s wrong with fighting beetles? And why is everyone scared of you?” Dian continued.

“ _I’m_ not,” the owner of the first beetle grumbled.

“Bao, shut _up!_ ” The boy next to him elbowed him sharply.

“He’s the Avatar—he defeated Fire Lord Ozai _by himself!_ He’s the most powerful guy in the _world!”_ Muaj hissed, clearly mortified by Dian’s impertinence and Bao’s audacity.

“It’s ok, Muaj. It’s good to ask questions. Do you know what the Avatar is, Dian?” The little boy shook his head. “I’m the guy who’s gotta keep the whole world in balance. The Spirit World and the Human World, and all the nations.”

“That seems like kind of a big job. Aren’t you just a teenager?”

Aang never faulted anyone for giving him that skeptical once-over. “Yeah, it is. And yeah, I’m 16 and a half. A little young for it, but I’m doing the best I can. And I’ve accomplished a few things, like helping Fire Lord Zuko end the war—like Muaj said—though I didn’t do that ‘by myself!’ Nobody gets anything big done without a lot of help from friends, you know. I sorted out the colonies after the war, with Master Katara and a lot of other people…though that didn’t end exactly how I had in mind.” Aang’s friendly smile drooped a little at that horrifying memory. “But then I got to establish a new nation! Have you heard about that?”

“Yeah!” Bao barked before anyone else could answer. “First he takes away _our_ colonies, then he turns them into some kind of _loserland_ where the _losers_ are in charge.”

“Um, not exactly. Hey, do you guys like stories? ‘Cause I’ve got a good one.” Aang started to settle himself down on the top of a retaining wall. “Wait a minute—do you think there’s anyone else in this neighborhood who might want to hear my story?”

After a flurry of activity, the boys returned with friends and a few grownups, and they all gathered around him. No one ever turned down a good story, Aang had learned, not even Avatar-doubters. And after two months touring the Fire Nation advocating for Zuko and Kuei’s Ten-Minute War treaty, he’d gotten a little better at telling this one.

He started a subtle, swirling breeze to keep his audience comfortable in the midday heat while he spoke.

“Long, long ago—long before anyone alive can remember, before anyone that our eldest elders knew could remember, before our histories and libraries were created (except for maybe Wang Shi Tong’s library, which is now lost to us in the Spirit World)—in a time lost to human memory, _the Four Nations did not exist._ ” Aang let that sink in for a moment. It was a baffling concept for most people.

“The world existed, in more or less the same shape it’s in now, but humans weren’t separated by the elements they could bend. They had learned to bend earth…air…water…and fire…” (Aang punctuated each of these words with flourish in the element named) “but benders of different elements lived together and helped one another. Can you imagine how that might work?” He cast an expectant look over the group, checking to see who was most engaged. “How a firebender could be useful in a village at the South Pole?”

“Ooh, ooh! I know! He could light lots of fires! Keep everybody warm!”

“Great idea, Dian! And how about a waterbender, in this land of volcanoes?”

“Maybe put out fires? If there’s an eruption or something? Or the firebenders get drunk?” Muaj offered.

Aang laughed. “Of course! Think about some of the other ways that fire and water work together….”

“Soup!”

“Soup! Who doesn’t like soup?”

“The steam engine!” an older voice volunteered.

“Of course! And how could an earthbender help mountain dwellers, like the Air Nomads?”

That was more foreign and took a little more thought.

“Well, they could make stairs in the rock, right? Make it easier to climb the mountain?”

“Or build places for people to live?”

“That’s the idea! In fact, did you know that the trickier parts of the Air Temples _were_ actually built by earthbenders? Long before the Hundred Years War, when the Four Nations lived in peace and harmony.

“But the temples were much later. At first there were no nations at all. Just people.

Aang then took his audience through an embroidered version of the story the spirit of Avatar Su had told him last year, the one that had lifted the blinkers from Aang’s own eyes.

“….And that is why the Earth King and the Fire Lord have decided to give Yu Dao the chance to be its own country, because it was never meant to be ruled by Fire _or_ Earth!”

A murmur rose up among the adults (quite a few more gathered than at the beginning of the story) and Aang listened carefully for its tone—angry and defensive, or marveling at the wonders of a peaceful world? Would it be combat or dialogue?

“So what’s it going to be called?” Dian piped up.

“Well, they’re not sure yet. It might take them a little while to decide. What do _you_ think it should be called?”

 _“Not_ ‘the Fifth Nation.’ That’s boring.”

“The Nonbender Nation?” someone suggested from the back, maybe sarcastically.

Aang made a skeptical face.

“The Nothing Nation?” Laughter. So maybe it would be humor, then.

“Why not just ‘Yu Dao’?”

“Because that means ‘Jade Island’—it’s not an island!”

“No it doesn’t, it means ‘Fish Way.’”

“You idiot. Who’d name their city ‘Fish Way’?”

“Dirty clodheads, that’s who!” A scattering of guffaws trickled off self-consciously with nervous glances towards the Avatar.

“I thought it meant ‘Pouring Rain,’” someone muttered.

“It should be something beautiful that combines everything, like ‘The Rainbow Country’!” Muaj exclaimed.

“That’s lovely!” Aang beamed at him encouragingly.

“With all due respect, Avatar Aang,” a rough-hewn voice cut through the chatter, “it doesn’t really matter to us if the Earth Kingdom has Yu Dao, or the Water Tribes, or a wandering band of sandbenders. The city, the land, and everything it gave to the Fire Nation is lost. Lost to _us._ The jobs, the wealth. Your ‘Harmony Restoration’ cost our brothers and sisters their life’s work—their _homes_. The Fire Nation _earned_ those colonies.” A middle-aged man with thinning, iron-grey hair pulled tightly back from his face stood near the rear of the crowd, holding the rigid posture of someone bracing for the firing squad. Aang respected his courage. He certainly wasn’t going to attack the poor guy.

“I understand, sir. Believe me, I do. Master Katara and I spent years touring the Fire Nation colonies sorting out the repatriation plans—and it was not abstract policy to us. We were down on the streets, just as I am now, listening to people’s stories, sharing their passions and their heartaches. We did everything we could to smooth the transition. But for peace to last, it was _necessary_ for the Fire Nation to return to its original islands. Surely you can see that? No matter how painful it was. War has too many victims, on _all_ sides.”

There was a murmur of agreement to that, though Aang knew from experience that most of them had no idea the scale of the suffering the Fire Nation had inflicted in “earning” those colonies. But he could work with what he had.

“But Yu Dao shows us a new kind of future. Instead of forcing everyone to choose a single identity, to be one or the other, Yu Dao lets families to stay as they have been for generations, a mixture of Fire and Earth, of old and new. Instead of fighting, cooperation. Instead of separation, unity. Yu Dao is the world’s hope for peace.” Swinging his arm in a wide arc, he dispersed a fine mist of water on a delicate gust angled to catch the light just so…and a rainbow glimmered in the air above their heads.

“Ooooh….” The audience breathed as one.

He had found that to be a pretty stirring conclusion. Liberal-minded folks accepted the idea enthusiastically and continued his and Zuko’s work of spreading the word. They were the minority, of course. Conservative nationalists clung to their skepticism, hackles raised by words like “mixture,” “cooperation,” and “peace”—all of which they took to mean “weak and impure.” They were also in the minority. The bulk of any audience was willing to be swept up on his message of hope, led by what he made them _feel._ And if the feeling was strong enough, it didn’t matter if what he said contradicted what they thought they knew. Which was why he tried to make the experience one to remember, to help them hang on to the optimism as long as they could.

As the neighbors dispersed, Aang hung around to speak with anyone who wanted to talk to him. Some wanted details, some wanted an autograph, and some just wanted a hug.

“Avatar Aang, pardon me.” The brave man who had spoken up, one hand clutching Bao by the arm, gave Aang a soldier’s bow.

“Oh, hi! Hey, are you Bao’s dad?”

“I am. Moru’s the name. Thank you for letting me say my piece. You won’t convince me, and I can’t imagine I’ll convince you. But I appreciate that you treated me with respect. I want to apologize for Bao here. Because I hear he did not do the same to you.”    

“Oh, please don’t worry about it. He’s entitled to his opinions. He just doesn’t know how to express them yet.” He turned to the boy. “Open your ears, Bao, and your mind and heart will follow.”

“He knows well enough not to be rude. Especially to the Avatar! Well, Bao?”

Bao ducked his head sullenly and mumbled something.

“Louder!” His father shook his arm roughly.

“I’m sorry!” Bao shouted belligerently. “For not hiding what I feel under pretty words.”

His father yanked him towards him and hissed something in his ear.

“Hey, hey, now. We can let this go. I can see that Bao has a lot of pride in his nation, just like you, and is disappointed about how things have gone for the Fire Nation recently.”

“It’s not just the Fire Nation. Aren’t you going to tell him, Father? Or are you too _polite?”_

The man’s glare told his son there’d be hell to pay later. But his pride wouldn’t let the needling slide. “What he means to say is that my firstborn was killed in the Siege of the North Pole four years ago. Drowned in the fleet when the spirit came, if you believe that story. Bao was very close to him. He hasn’t gotten over it and it’s affected his attitude.” 

Aang’s heart sank into his gut and twisted everything up, as it did every time he faced one of his unintended victims. “I am so sorry, Moru.” He reached out and placed a warm hand on Bao’s shoulder. “Please accept my most sincere apologies for your loss.”

“Apologies? It was war.” Moru shrugged impatiently.

“Even in war, we make choices. I regret the consequences of some of mine. Would you let me pay my respects to the rest of your family?”

“That’s easy enough. Light some incense at our family shrine. Bao and I are all that’s left.”

And now his gut was filled with lead. But Moru was right. There was nothing more to be done.

“Aang, Aang!” Muaj and Dian called to him, wriggling through the dispersing crowd. They were towing a frazzled woman carrying a baby. “Come meet our mother!”

“Of course!” With a final squeeze of Bao’s shoulder, Aang moved on.

 

氣

 

* * *

 

火

 

> _Never forget…. Bronze eyes drowning in tears held back. His mother’s hands cradling his smooth cheeks. Lightly calloused fingers drifting across his face, tingling a little. He’d forgotten—not a court lady’s fingers._
> 
> _Never forget…. Never forget…._
> 
> _A scream reverberated through the palace answered by a chorus of wails, slippers pattered and boots thundered down the corridors, fire blazing. Around every corner, fire. He knew, he knew, but he couldn’t think it._
> 
> _Mother's voice, somewhere in the cacophony, calling out to him. Trying to tell him something. He strained to make it out in the soup of panic, but the syllables would not sort into words._
> 
> _Morning in the garden, but not morning.The light was strange, like a lit stage, casting shadows where shadows shouldn’t be. An expanse of black silk, rippling gold in the not-morning light blocked his view. He couldn’t see the pond, afraid for the turtleducks. Father simply stood—no answers, no questions, not turning. Terrifying. Father was everything that could happen in the world. The turtleducks stood no chance._
> 
> _Nothing solid supported Zuko’s feet, in endless free-fall, nowhere to land, yet never escaping that shadow that shouldn’t be._
> 
> _His father was saying something. He should listen. He must listen. “Do you understand, Zuko?” He hadn’t heard. He was stupid. “Do you understand?” He must try harder. **“Do you understand!** _
> 
> _“You thought she was the perfect mother. The essence of goodness,” the Fatherlord mocked. “Blinded by love, just like the rest. Hair and fingernails growing off the dead Avatar—completely worthless, all of you.”_
> 
> _His face drew closer and closer to Zuko’s, blazing with heat, yet his voice was icy. “By her suffering so will the Family be cleansed. And suffering will be your teacher!”_
> 
> _Ozai’s face burst into flame._

Zuko jerked awake, halfway to sitting before his eyes opened. The morning sunlight streamed in through the open window—real morning—dancing cheerfully on the scarlet satin sheets jumbled across the empty acreage of his bed. A breeze playfully pushed the curtains to and fro. He took it in: his own room, solid and grown-up. Thank Agni he had never moved into his father’s chambers.

Still, as he pulled on his robes and sat to have his topknot done, the past seemed more immediate than the present. “Never forget who you are”—that’s what his mother had told him. So simple, and yet so complicated. But who was _she?_

He stumbled into the breakfast room and was relieved to see Aang and Uncle Iroh already there, chatting companionably in the dappled sunlight. His nightmare began to fade, until next time.

“Morning, Zuko!”

“Hope you slept well, nephew.” Uncle caught his eye and his face fell a little. “Or, at least, that you slept.”

Zuko grunted. “I slept.” A bowl of ginger-laced congee topped with komodo chicken and fried shallots was placed before him, exactly as he sat down, and a plate of sliced sunfruit, fanned around a moon peach, slid in next to it. Aang and Iroh continued their conversation in muted tones at the other end of the table. Avatar stuff, apparently. Zuko ate silently, paying no attention until the name caught his ear.

“I told Katara that I would. Because she was right, I _have_ to.”

“And you believe the Guru holds the key?”

“That’s what he told me. He was going to teach me to master the Avatar State, but I left before I could finish opening all my chakras.” Aang’s voice dropped so low that Zuko could barely hear him. “I couldn’t accept the terms.” Zuko knew that had something to do with Katara, as well, but he’d never gotten the whole story.

“It is possible, young Avatar, that it is not such a linear process as all that. It would not surprise me if such a thing takes years to master, drawing wisdom from many sources.”

Aang shook his head impatiently, then said lightly, “Don’t forget, Iroh: I mastered three elements in less than a year!”

“An unequaled feat, to be sure!” Iroh joined Aang’s melodious laughter, all gravity forgotten. Zuko could not feel so lighthearted—about Aang’s prospects or his own ghosts.

His dishes vanished when he laid down his spoon and he waved aside a murmured query as to any additional requirements. All this pampering was making him soft. He needed to _work_ —to sweat, bruise, and bleed.

Amanu stepped in exactly at that moment, slipping the day’s schedule in front of him. But there was no letter from the South Pole, Zuko noticed with a twinge. He scanned the schedule restlessly, not really absorbing anything until he got to:

> _“4:00, Courtyard: Send-off for Prince Iroh and the Avatar.”_

Already.

“Why are you leaving so late in the day, anyway?” he asked abruptly.

“Avatar Aang has convinced me that a sunset over the Fire Nation Capital from the air is an experience I cannot miss. We’ll spend the night at the Ember Island house.”

“Right, I remember. Arrangements have been made.”

“I want to give Iroh the perfect sky bison tour of the world—I can’t believe it’s been this long and he’s still never been on a proper journey on Appa!”

“Wait—a tour of the _world?”_

“It’s a long way to Ba Sing Se. I thought we’d stop here and there and see a few things along the way!”

“Uncle, you do remember Aang’s navigational…uh, idiosyncrasies?”

“It’s my retirement, Zuko. My _second_ retirement, actually. I have never traveled a world at peace—and this time, I do not have an obsessed and petulant teenage martinet to manage!”

“No, you have a hedonistic, gregarious daydreamer of a teenager instead.”

“Should be a nice change!” Iroh declared with a good-humored chuckle. Aang joined in easily.

“I just hope you’ve packed the supplies yourself.” Zuko began to stand up, then stopped himself. “I’m being surly. I apologize. I slept poorly.”

Iroh came around the table to rest a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll miss you, too, Zuko. More than you can know.”

“But it’s time. Long past time. You postponed your retirement to support me, and even now that you’re no longer my regent, you’ve stayed on here behind the scenes, for months now. If you don’t leave now, you’ll never find time for yourself. And you deserve that, Uncle.”

Iroh wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed and Zuko thought his eyes looked a little watery.

“Ohhh, group hug!” Aang threw his arms around both of them and pulled them into a huddle. It was nice, but…Zuko glanced around quickly to see if they were alone. They weren’t, of course.

“Yes, well. Busy day! I’ll see you both at four.” He extracted himself swiftly and followed Amanu out the door.

Zuko had taken steps to ensure a minimum of sentimentality at Iroh and Aang’s actual departure. Not that he wished to downplay his affection for them, but Iroh would cry buckets given the opportunity. Someone had to preserve the dignity of the royal family.

He had devised a little ceremony to honor each of them and hoped it would be public—and tedious—enough to minimize the emotional honesty. Not that it was actually open to the public; both Aang and his uncle were immensely popular in the Capital and the heightened emotions of a mass celebration was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

Instead, they met in the courtyard of the Palace, attended by members of the court and staff whose special relationships should be honored. For Iroh, his pai sho buddies—a motley crew including Baron Sao, who never seemed to return to his own province; Minister Banyak of Census and Taxation; Atash, of the War and Peacemaking Ministry; the Chief Gardener, who had been imprisoned by Ozai for petty reasons and released on priority by Acting Fire Lord Iroh at the end of the war and, surprisingly, Chit-Sang, the Boiling Rock escapee who’d since become an exemplary member of Zuko’s Elite Guard. The Earth Kingdom ambassador’s under-secretary was usually included in the group, too, but he was visiting his parents in Omashu.

Various other close friends and admirers of Iroh’s had also come: General Mak, Captain Jee, and several of the younger, up-and-coming military officers; Chef Anko and virtually his entire kitchen staff; Captain Ming of the Palace Peace Guard and her squad; and quite an impressive number of court ladies above a certain age, all angling to catch the old man’s eye in one way or another.

Of course many of the same people had become attached to Aang over the last couple of months. In addition to a small contingent of dutiful Fire Sages, Aang had attracted a flock of what appeared to be every girl under the age of twenty that the Palace employed, and quite a few boys as well, giggling and flirting with him below the podium. Yonish the Matchmaker was lurking on the fringes of a cluster of similarly hormone-driven young nobles (who were trying to ignore the first group) and gave Aang a cheery wave and a wink.

Zuko ascended the podium in front of Appa and the crowd quieted.

“Avatar Aang, on behalf of the Fire Nation, I offer thanks for your service these past three months in extending the hand of peace and tolerance across our islands and mountains. You have traveled tirelessly to educate our people on the changing state of the world, and how we must find the way forward, in partnership with the other nations. We urge you to return to us in the Fire Nation at every opportunity to continue to build trust among the nations and deepen the people’s understanding of your mission.”

Amidst applause and whistles, Zuko looped a medal on a red ribbon around Aang’s neck. Because words were never considered enough at these affairs—there always had to be a _thing_. Not that _Aang_ cared for things. He gave the medal a negligent pat, his eyes fixed fondly on Zuko, who sidestepped the oncoming hug smoothly.

“Prince Iroh, Lord Regent Emeritus, and retired General First Rank of the Fire Nation Army, Lord of the Kakomu Islands, Grand Master of the Order of the White Lotus, and Royal Steward of the Most Excellent Order of the Steamed Leaf. The Fire Nation can never sufficiently thank you for your selfless service to your people. Even in the face of rejection, disgrace, betrayal, exile, and imprisonment, you never lost faith in your people, and never lost sight of the true mission: peace and prosperity for all.”

Dammit, Iroh was crying. Already.

“It is impossible to list all your deeds, but I shall make the attempt, since the ‘impossible’ never deterred you.” Zuko did his best to ignore the rivers cascading down his uncle’s cheeks and pooling in his collar as he read a deliberately exhaustive list of Iroh’s accomplishments—some of which, admittedly, had been considered treason at the time. He’d hoped a long dry speech would bore everyone to—not to tears. To sleep perhaps. To _impatience_ , eager to be on their way.

At the end of the list, he hung another medallion around Uncle’s neck. Iroh hurled himself at Zuko—a lesser warrior would have fallen to the flagstones—squeezing him so tightly he could feel the medal leaving an imprint on his chest.

So that was a complete failure.

Zuko was so focused in preserving a modicum of royal dignity whilst disentangling himself from these maudlin fools (he had made the provision a movable staircase for Iroh to mount Appa, to avoid the spectacle of the old prince’s underthings, should Aang spontaneously airbend him into the saddle), that it wasn’t until Appa’s furry form was receding into the sky, indistinguishable from a scrap of cloud, that his defenses buckled, helpless against the sudden panic.

Zuko was alone.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The early morning sun hit the jagged cliffs above the prison tower, creeping over the edge of the Caldera walls. Zuko strode purposefully towards the gates, noting how the guards stiffened to attention at his approach. As Fire Lord, he should have taken a palanquin, but he couldn’t bear to sit still, enclosed in a luxuriant cell. He needed his blood warm for this.

He barely acknowledged his guards’ salutes and strode through each successive gate and locked door, driven by a need he’d forestalled for years. Other visitors must register, submit to a search, in some cases undergo questioning. The Fire Lord was ushered directly into the prison’s highest security ward without challenge.

The final gate clanged open, revealing a dim, grey cell. Clean, but utterly without comforts, almost without life. A thin figure sat hunched at the rear, still separated from Zuko by a row of bars.

“Good morning, Father.”

Ozai slowly raised his head and looked at him. His face was lined now—far more than it should be in a man of his age—and his hair streaked with gray. His eyes were dull until they focused on Zuko with a minute start of recognition. From what Iroh had told him, Zuko suspected this qualified as a dramatic reaction.

“I have come for answers. And this time you will speak. _What happened to my mother?”_

 

火

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of new names in this one. There are a lot of names in Orbits in general. Which is why I keep a glossary/index for myself--I try to reintroduce old characters (canon or original) to keep the cast from sprawling out of control, which requires that I remember who they were. Also, all the names have meanings, in one language or another, usually embarrassingly literal.
> 
> Any interest in having me publish that? With name origins, character descriptions, and chapters they appear in?


	5. COMMITTED: Other Halves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Year 4, March.  
>  _** _**Kotan Village, the South Pole**_
> 
> _Marriage, family, and other options_  
> 
> 
> _(Sokka POV; Katara POV; Kanna POV)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One for all you anthropology junkies....

計

 

Sokka saw stars. Suki’s hand had found its way under Sokka’s parka, belted tunic and undershirt, and all the way into his pants somehow.

“Mmph,” was his passionate response, what with his mouth being completely occupied at the base of her neck while he fumbled clumsily with her many layers. He sucked vigorously at just the right spot, getting an urgent groan out of her. He shivered and thrust against her thigh, wondering if she could even feel it through all the leather.

This was so much easier in the Fire Nation, even when she was all armored up.

She wriggled out of one sleeve, her other hand still busy right where it should be. “I can’t stand it. I need you now, Sokka.” 

“Me, too. Me, too,” he panted.

Suki reclined on a basket of dried herring. The storage cave, stacked with to the ceiling with the fruits of summer, was now strewn with bits of Water Tribe leather and furs and Sokka was working his way downward, unlacing her tunic.

“We just need to keep it off the winter stores,” he murmured.

“It?”

“You know. Fluids.”

Suki sputtered and doubled over with giggles, tipping him over. It completely ruined the moment.

“Sorry—just being practical here! No one likes sex-flavored fish!” 

She erupted into gales. He sat back on his knees. “Come on!” he almost whined, until he caught it, too. They rolled onto the hard-packed floor together, laughing in each other’s arms, tangled in half-removed clothes.

“This situation—it’s not good,” Sokka said when they were done—with the laughing, anyway—spread-eagled on the floor. “We’ve gone much longer than this before. Why is it _killing_ me now?”

“Because we’re around each other every day, but never alone. And I don’t know about you, but there’s nothing _else_ to think about or do here. Stitching sealhide and stirring soup only takes up so much of my brain. My body is going _crazy.”_

“Yeah. There’s training, but there’s only so many ways you can handle a boomerang.” He twisted to give her his trademark eyebrow waggle. _“You_ wanna handle my boomerang?”

Suki rolled her eyes, which was second best to a giggle, but he’d take it. “Is this what it’s always like here?”

He heaved a sigh. “Pretty much. I’m always trying to get something new going—but the men just want to hunt and talk hunting. Fishing, when they get tired of land mammals. Sometimes I wonder if anything's really going to change here.

“I mean, _this_ , though. How do people have sex with no _privacy?”_

“It'd be different if we got married. I’d build us an igloo, and it’d be just us…for the first nine months, anyway. Mostly, privacy’s in other people choosing not to listen.”

“Huh.” She settled her chin on her hands where they lay on his chest. “Well, it’s not that different from Kyoshi Warrior life, I guess.”

“How so? You’re all women.” Suki gave him a look, one that grew more pointed the longer he returned it blankly. “Wait, what?”

“Well, what do you think, we all just sit around chastely waiting until a handsome lover happens to ride by? We’re not required to be _celibate,_ but random promiscuity’s not exactly favored, either.”

“So you mean, you all…” Sokka felt his face heat up in a confusion of embarrassment and titillation.

“Not all at once! Sheesh, you went straight for the yellow scrolls, didn’t you?” 

“What? No! I wouldn’t—what scrolls? I just—” Sokka frantically tried to scrubbed out the images that had instantly exploded into his mind. He widened his eyes and tilted his head—polar-puppy innocence here, that’s what was called for. But… “So, how does it work, exactly?”

Suki sat back on her haunches, arms folded over her chest. “Want me to draw you a diagram? Or you just want to watch?”

“Watch _who?_ You’re with _me!”_

“Oh, but that’s different,” she said dismissively. “I’m in _love_ with you. With another woman, it’s just for satisfaction. You know.”

“Not really…?”

“So are we doing this thing or not?”

 

計

 

* * *

 

水

 

Katara sat by the fire, bouncing her little sister on her knee. At four months, Otok couldn’t sit on her own yet, but she babbled cheerfully, her round, brown face split with gummy grins for everyone. Everyone else smiled right back at her, naturally, which made her happier and cuter, and made them want to pinch her cheeks—round and round, love feeding love, just the way it was supposed to go.

Katara nuzzled her downy hair to breathe in her baby-scent. She’d dandled plenty of babies on her travels—it was definitely part of her job as the Avatar’s companion. But staying in one place and watching the same baby grow— _their_ baby—day to day, was something else again.

It touched something deep inside her. Yugoda had told her that a master healer would have no time for her own children; total commitment to the well-being of her tribe was what everyone expected of her, she supposed. But there were other expectations. Aang _needed_ children, if his people were to survive at all. She would be honored to be their mother, but if neither Air Nomads nor master healers married, and Aang was responsible for the whole world, how would that work? Aang would just pop in for a quickie every few months, and applaud when a baby popped out? And who would raise them?

And if not for the requirement of firebending heirs, would Zuko have been off-limits? Fire Nation marriage was all-in on the fidelity front, no ambiguity. All-in on national loyalty, too—you couldn’t be with the Fire Lord and have one foot in the Water Tribes. That was a fantasy, anyway; Zuko would marry according to his station, and she was to be the South Pole’s master healer, not the Fire Lady. Neither of them would abandon their duties.

All Katara herself wanted was to love her own squishy little bundle, _and_ be useful helping people, without all the grown-up politics. Why did such simple things have to be so complicated? Otok crammed her ivory rattle joyfully into her mouth and her whole belly jiggled with a baby chuckle. 

“As long as the family is together, there will be love and babies aplenty.” Noto caught Katara’s eye with a compassionate little smile. “When the men were gone, and you and Sokka too, and all we had was our toddling children and the ghosts of the dead…that was a dark time. But now you’ve come back, and we have a future. Does it matter whose wombs the babies come from? They are all ours.”

Of course. Hadn’t Katara cared for the little ones along with all the mothers, after she lost her own mother? Rakko and Miksa were hers as much as Otok, in that sense. But still….

Suki came in and flopped down next to Katara, looking a bit more disheveled than usual. Outside, they heard Hakoda hailing Sokka. Katara looked at Suki with a wordless question, then decided she didn’t need to know. Gran Gran made a “harrumph” with a stern frown, but Katara caught a hint of humor beneath it.

“Katara, would you help me up? I believe it’s time for my healing session. And the ship with your patients from Kivallit is due any time now. Give the baby to Suki.” Gran Gran beckoned to her. “Since she seems in such a hurry to have one of her own,” she muttered as she prepared to rise.

Suki blushed as she accepted Otok in her lap, shaking the rattle to distract her from losing Katara. It didn’t work. The instant her sister let her go, Otok started to wail piteously. Katara reached for her again, but Gran Gran grabbed her arm and used it to haul herself up, shuffling towards the door. “Out we go.”

Katara looked back over her shoulder to see Suki patting and jouncing Otok, cooing and shushing her with a desperate light in her eye. Well, she’d figure it out. Everybody did.

 

水

 

* * *

 

計

 

“There you are, Sokka.” Hakoda intercepted him. “Where’ve you been?” His dad gave him a once-over, took in his rumpled clothes, his wolf-tail askew. “Never mind.”

Sokka self-consciously tried to fix his hair. “What’s up, Dad?”

“We have a surprise visitor.”

“The ship’s come in?” 

Hakoda started to lead the way, then stopped and redid Sokka’s wolf-tail himself. “Try to look respectable.” 

They rounded a corner to find Chief Karluk himself pacing outside the healing hut, a bit apart from the dozen or so men, women, and children clustered around it.

“Ah, Hakoda. And young Sokka.” The chief grasped each of their forearms in turn.

“Welcome to Kotan, Chief Karluk. Have you come to see my daughter?” 

“I’m afraid so. My own daughter is ill.” He gestured towards the healing hut. “She’s inside where it’s warmer.

“I hope it’s not serious?”

“Seems to be pneumonia, which should be a simple matter for a waterbender to cure. Thank Tui and La for Katara’s return! But I came along myself, hoping to catch the two of you for a word. Especially you.” Karluk nodded at Sokka.

“Me, Chief? How can I help?”

“How is your new ship faring, Sokka?”

“Candra’s a beauty. Did the trip to Yu Dao and back like a barracuda-dolphin. Haven’t had much for her to do this summer since then, just a few local runs. She’s ready to sail if you need her.”

“Kotan is fortunate to have another shipmaster. Your village’s prosperity buoys the entire tribe. We are bringing all our ports back to life.”

“One by one and ship by ship,” Hakoda agreed.

“Yeah, it’s great.” He’d only heard this praise song about a hundred times. An old man thing, Sokka figured. Not like the old men had had much to sing about in their lives, not until recently.

“And Kyoshi Island will be one of Candra’s ports of call, I suppose?”

Ah. That’s what this was about. “Well, as a matter of fact….” Sokka exchanged a glance with Hakoda. They’d talked about it in hypotheticals, but Sokka hadn’t really tied a bow on his and Suki’s plans and made any announcements. “Suki and I thought we’d be setting off pretty soon actually, and winter over there.”

“Oh, yes, the Earth Kingdom girl.” As if he’d only just remembered her. “I’d be interested in meeting her. Is she around?”

“Uh, yeah, I—probably.” Sokka prayed she’d had a chance to pull herself together. There was an awkward pause, Karluk looking expectantly at him. “Oh, now?”

Hakoda rolled his eyes at his son behind Karluk’s back. “Chief Karluk, please be our guest.” He led the way to their roundhouse.

“Well, here we are, Chief Karluk!” Sokka said in an over-loud voice as they approached. “I hope Suki is inside. I thought I saw her heading this way not long ago. Didn’t you see her, Dad? I’m pretty sure we saw her.”

“Well, let’s just _check_ , shall we?” Hakoda said pointedly, lifting the sealskin door for the other two men and following them in.

Suki stood in the middle of the room, blinking in the sudden sunlight, holding in her arms—Sokka did a double-take—the baby, fast asleep. She was trying to stretch a finger to her lips (awkwardly, because of the baby), but too late.

“Suki!” Sokka blurted without thinking. “They left you with the baby?” Unfortunately, his voice was still at theatrical levels. Otok began to fuss. “Sorry!” And then to scream. 

“Shhh! Shhh!” Suki frantically jounced the baby with some fancy but random footwork. Otok wasn’t having it.

The men just watched, until Sokka caved.

“Give her here….” He lifted his little sister out of Suki’s arms and swung her around with some brotherly noises until she started giggling. And then everything was fine.

“Chief Karluk, this is my girlfriend Suki. Suki, Chief Karluk wanted to meet you.”

Suki bowed with clasped fist. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Chief.”

“Oh—we have already met?”

She smiled forgivingly. “I may have looked a little different. I was in full uniform and paint as the captain of the Kyoshi Warriors at the time, guarding Fire Lord Zuko during the Peace Talks in Ba Sing Se.” 

“Of course, of course! I didn’t realize that was you. Most impressive. How are you finding life in the Southern Water Tribe?” He took in the room, and Suki’s apparent place in it, commanding it like a warrior in a stance that one of Toph’s boulders couldn’t break, yet seeming not a part of it at all.

“Most educational, sir,” Suki answered formally. “Kanna and Katara and Noto have been immeasurably helpful in helping me learn the ways of your women.”

“I am sure you could adapt. Eventually.” He didn’t sound that sure. “But I hear you are returning to Kyoshi soon. It’s very thoughtful of Sokka. Winter at the South Pole might be hard on you.”

Suki exchanged a look with Sokka to confirm, so he jumped in. “Yeah, maybe. More like, I thought I should get to know _her_ homeland, too, now that she’s been here for a while, learning _our_ ways.”

“That’s very...reciprocal of you.” Karluk sighed regretfully. “He would have made a fine son-in-law,” he said in an undertone to Hakoda, but loud enough for Sokka, and probably Suki, to overhear. The chief had had plans for him? He fought down a surge of irritation—he’d made it perfectly clear to everyone he was taken, a little light flirting notwithstanding (Karluk’s daughters were cute).

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t want it to be one-sided. Our family will have to bridge two cultures, you know?”

Karluk made a rumbling sound deep in his throat—skepticism or phlegm? “Interesting notion. Hard to picture. But forgive me—my generation was forged in the fires of war. We know little about building peace, and Hakoda has convinced me we should look to you young adventurers for that. And that is why I’m here. We need to expand our relationships—independently, as the Southern Water Tribe, you understand. Since Chief Arnook’s passing.”

“Yeah, Chief Savik’s…”—a conniving, power-hungry backstabber— “…a bit of a wildcard?”

Karluk chuckled humorlessly. “Maybe. Honestly, I suspect he’s simply cut from the same cloth as Arnook, but without the seasoning of age. Volatile and zealously protective of Northern interests. So we need to protect ours, too.”

Suki frowned. “Where does Kyoshi Island fit into this? We have little to offer, and my people are very committed to their…solitude.” Meaning that the island was staunchly isolationist and had so far rebuffed every effort to establish ties with other lands—even within the Earth Kingdom.

“So we have heard. But perhaps your people would like some help with that? The Southern Water Tribe could provide valuable naval protection.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Gets right to the point, doesn’t she?” he said to Sokka, before answering. “A trade route, of course. Access to your port, as our gateway to the Earth Kingdom.”  
  
“But Kyoshi’s not a trading port.”

“Maybe not. That could change, with the Southern Water Tribe facilitating. Or, Kyoshi Island could stay closed, to all but us. We want access, not control over your decisions.”

“Well, _I’m_ not opposed, of course. But the governor and her council may be resistant to the idea.”

“Indeed. To that end, we would like you, Sokka, to represent the Southern Water Tribe to negotiate an agreement with Kyoshi Island. Perhaps with the aid of your straight-talking girlfriend.”

“Wow. I would be honored, Chief Karluk.” Finally, an official role representing the tribe. Not just Boy-Genius, Upgrader of Igloos.

“Good. That’s settled. What a family, Hakoda.” Karluk gave the village headman a hearty slap on the back and settled down on the bench outside Katara’s hut, stretching his legs out in front of him. Hakoda sat next to him. 

Hakoda shook his head ruefully, but with a good-humored grin. “Never in my wildest nightmares would I have imagined what these two would get up to while I was gone.”

“Can’t really complain about the outcomes, can we?” Karluk laughed. “That daughter of yours, now. We _did_ expect something of her.”

 _And what was I?_ Sokka thought. _Chopped whale blubber?_

“It’s a relief she’s come home. For a while there, I was afraid she wouldn’t. Katara seemed determined to carry the weight of world peace—the Avatar’s right-hand woman for life. But I breathe easier now.”

“As do we all. Literally, in the case of my daughter!” The men laughed. Only with a waterbending healer around could they joke about pneumonia. “So she will _not_ be marrying the Avatar, then?”

“Seems not?” Hakoda looked to Sokka.

“Um, Air Nomads didn’t exactly _marry_ , you know? You remember how he's been when he’s here—barely ten minutes inside an igloo and he’s off. Aang would want to settle down if she asked him to—I think—but that'd be like trying to hold a cloud in a net. Or Katara could go Airbender. But I’m trying to imagine them both sleeping around, all free love and fruit pies, and all I can picture is a really pissed-off waterbender.”

“And she would be entitled to her wrath!” Karluk slapped his thigh righteously. “We believe in _fidelity_ in the Water Tribes!”

“But then, according to Yugoda and Gran Gran, healers don’t really ice in for life, either…?”

“That’s Northern nonsense. Their idea of marriage is too rigid to allow wives to be anything but mothers. In the South, we’d all just pick up the slack. No need for Katara to be burdened by the day-to-day child-rearing, as long as she’s willing to do the child- _bearing.“_  

“And marry, of course.” Hakoda raised an eyebrow at Karluk for confirmation.

“Of course. But since when is _that_ a burden?” The two old men laughed heartily.

“The obvious match now would be Anik, of course,” Hakoda said. “They could rebuild the Kotan lineage of waterbenders.”

“Yes…on the other hand, if they each found their own spouses, we might create two such lineages. And your clan and Anik’s are so closely related—it might be advisable to bring in new blood.”

Moon above, they were _still_ trying to breed her. He’d thought her new status would keep them off her back.

“What about another link with the North? Sokka, didn’t you say your architect friend had an eye for her?”

“Um, Iri? He, uh, asked about her, yeah.” Like, every visit and every letter. 

“Oh yes, a fine bender by all accounts,” Karluk affirmed. “Why don’t you invite him down here again? Come up with another joint project or something. He could consult on the city expansion plans. With a little more time around each other….”

“He’s a good looking guy, wouldn’t you say, Sokka?” 

“I guess? His, uh, eyes are very blue.” 

“Bottom line, men, we cannot afford to lose our master healer to the Avatar or goodness knows what temptations in the other nations,” Karluk pronounced firmly. “A good man and a few babies are the surest way to tie Katara down. She’ll get nothing but support from the Southern Water Tribe.” Karluk clapped an arm each around Sokka and Hakoda’s shoulders.

  

計

 

* * *

 

 

水

 

When Katara got to her healing hut, she found her patients already there. Kanna deferred to the visitors and got to work mobilizing the village to provide warm drinks and cushions for them while they waited, inside and outside the healing hut. Mina was on hand to assist Katara—more or less the role that one of Yugoda’s apprentices would serve, though Mina’s skills were pretty basic, even for a nonbending healer.

Katara called in Atomte first, as the chief’s daughter, but the girl adamantly refused to pull rank and insisted Katara do a proper triage.

So she started instead with the man with the infected cut. His knife had slipped while gutting a crabfish and he’d ended up with a nasty, fishy gash through the ball of his thumb—now swollen and throbbing and sending a frightening range of colors up his arm. She made quick work of that, draining the pus and drawing his qi through his blood to cleanse it of the infection. Mina set to work bandaging it with a poultice while Katara lectured him on clean knives and proper wound care.

Next were a couple of fevers, a rotten tooth, an ulcer, and a case of chronic migraines. Nothing Katara hadn’t seen before.

An elderly couple was next, but as Atomte fussed over helping them up, she doubled over in a cascade of hacking coughs and Katara dragged her to the table instead, with small shove from the old woman. When she laid her water on Atomte’s chest and saw how much fluid was in her lungs, and felt the shivers of fatigue run through her body, she wondered that the girl hadn’t collapsed on arrival. Fortunately, pneumonia was made for waterbenders. The process was unappealing, to say the least, and her spectators gasped in horror at the endless stream of greenish-brownish phlegm she drew from Atomte’s mouth and into a bucket on the floor.

Cleansed, Atomte sat up with a deep breath, arms wide, and declared that she was cured.

“Oh no, you’re not.” Katara gently but firmly pushed her back down and worked for another half hour on clearing the infection and strengthening the flow of her qi. She prescribed a week of strict bedrest for a full recovery. That was overkill, considering what a thorough treatment she’d just done, but she could see that Atomte would likely take less than half of what Katara ordered.

“Your sisters can look after you. They’re old enough now. ” Chief Karluk’s wife had died at the end of the war, and too much of the burden had fallen on Atomte’s shoulders. “Time to share the load.”

The elderly couple, Umilik and Ulap, had been sitting inside the healing hut all along, out of the chill, watching with curiosity. Now, Ulap stood and patiently offered her arm, steady as a tree branch, to Umilik as he painstakingly got to his feet and shuffled over to Katara’s table. Together, Mina and Katara lifted him onto it.

“Old creaky joints, nothing more. But Ulap would only come see you if I sat on your table first.”

There was a familiar sort of grunt from Katara’s left. “I’m not a child, old man. I’ve got a cloud in my eye, maybe, but _you_ can hardly move!” She turned to Katara. “He would only come if I agreed to an examination, too.”

Katara smiled. “Well, let’s have a look, then.” She slowly massaged Umilik’s bony body with healing water, feet to shoulders. Arthritis, and an advanced case. Yugoda had taught her several approaches to this. She started by reducing the swelling in the joints where the pain was most acute, then began work on a more holistic healing process beginning at Umilik’s solar plexus and radiating outwards. 

“There. That’s about all I can do for now.”

The old man gave a sigh and slowly sat up, but much more fluidly than he had lain down. “I feel…better than I have in _years_ , Master Katara.”

Katara nodded. “I’m sorry to say that it may not last. Ideally, I would treat you once a week like this, to manage the pain. Since that won’t be possible, here’s what you _can_ do…” And she proceeded to outline a few home treatments, and packaged up some herbal medicines that she’d learned from Song and her mother for them to take home.

She beckoned to Ulap. “A cloud in your eye, you say?”

It was cataracts, of course, but not a simple case. Yugoda had taught her how to clear the lens with almost microscopic waterbending—hard enough, without the scar tissue Katara discovered surrounding the eye, remnants of a burn she hadn’t noticed at first, amongst the tangle of wrinkles.

“This looks like an old injury.”

“I’m an old woman.”

“How did you get it?”

“How do you think?”

A splash of cooking oil or careless child with a torch—household accidents weren’t exactly rare. But the darkness in Ulap’s tone was clear enough.

“It was the raid when the last of the waterbenders were taken,” she continued. “I was fighting alongside the others, but all I had was a spear, nothing to shield me from that bolt of fire.”

“I didn’t get there in time.” Umilik’s face twisted with regret. “She was in agony for months, and there was nothing we could do.”

“You did kill the bastard, Umi.”

“True.”

“There. How’s that?”

Ulap opened her eyes and blinked several times. Her eyes landed on her husband and she gazed at him a long moment. “Beautiful.”

“But I can’t cure scars from decades ago,” Katara warned. “The cataracts might come back.”

“Don't worry, child.” Ulap patted her hand with a cheerful smile. “I’ll be dead by then.”

Umilik stood slowly, but smoothly, and held out his hand. She took it, and he smiled. They left the igloo together, with a bow of thanks to their healer. 

They were the last patients. Katara began to tidy up the healing hut, enjoying a few minutes of silence, while Atomte busied herself with some embroidery (in defiance of Katara’s orders to lie down). 

With a tentative knock on the doorframe, a young woman slipped in, as if trying not to be seen.

“I’m sorry to bother you. Could you maybe see one more patient today?”

“Of course. Did you miss the triage earlier? Come sit here.” Katara gestured to the examination table she’d just wiped clean.

“It’s not for me. This is Gugan.” She turned, and Katara saw that she had a baby on her back.

“Oh! Hello, there.” Katara reached out and took the baby in her arms, immediately struck by his temperature. “A fever? How long?” 

She tried to lay the baby down on the table, but he sprang up with a gap-toothed smile. “Goo-gah!” he crowed, reaching for her loopies. He looked a little pale, but otherwise muscular and energetic—hardly a sickly child.

“Too long. It started weeks ago, but he since he’s a healthy baby, I thought it would just go away. It hasn’t. But he’s got no other symptoms. ”

Katara touched his forehead again—burning up. A suspicion began to form. She drew some water from her basin and laid it on his torso—as well as she could, as he squirmed and writhed out of her grasp—and looked inward, examining his qi. There it was. She opened her eyes.

“Gugan does seem to be perfectly well. So the question is…what did you say your name was?” 

“Taimma, Master Healer.” 

“Just Katara is fine. What can you tell me about his father, Taimma?”

“He’s gone.” She clamped her lips shut, unwilling to say any more. That confirmed it. 

“I see. A foreign trader, maybe?”

“How did you know?”

“Gugan is a firebender.”

Taimma did not seem to react, but Katara saw her knuckles whiten where she gripped the edge of the table. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“It’s impossible to be certain, not until he discovers his bending himself. But such a high body temperature, with no sign of sickness—that’s the first sign. And his qi—the way it flows, the _sense_ of it—it’s hard to explain…but it simply _feels_ like that of a firebender, and a powerful one, at that.”

The woman narrowed her eyes skeptically. “And you’ve felt the qi of a lot of firebenders, have you?”

“Not a _lot_ , no. But I healed Fire Lord Zuko. I worked on him for weeks.”

Atomte lifted her head in surprise. Perhaps it wasn’t commonly known how intimately involved she had been. The heroic ballads tended to leave out the day-to-day grind that made for the grand moments.

“And I’ve healed a great many earthbenders and waterbenders—and the world’s only airbender! I do have a basis for comparison.”

The young mother’s face caved in, as if she’d been kicked.

“Are you alone now? Tell me what happened.” Katara arranged another fur cushion by the fire and motioned for her to sit, placing Gugan in his mother’s lap. 

“There’s not so much to tell. Just foolishness, like everyone said. I never should have listened to him.” She played with a lock of her son’s black hair while he played with hers. 

“Did he take advantage of you?”

“N-no. I was willing. If I’d ignored him, if I’d just kept about my business, I never would have fallen for him. He never would have made promises he couldn’t keep. But I did, and he did, and—” she gestured to her son, palms up, as if displaying a gift “—we did.”

“And then he went home.”

“He said he’d come back. We were going to elope, and move to one of the towns in the Fire Nation where there are colonists, different kinds of people, or maybe even Yu Dao. But he stopped writing. And then Gugan was born, and still no word. And I wouldn’t name the father, but everyone knew, or suspected.”

“He could still come for you, next summer perhaps.”

“No. I did get a letter, finally. His parents found out and forced him to marry his old girlfriend. A _Fire Nation_ girl.” She sounded defeated.

Katara reached out for her hand and squeezed it. On a controlled exhale, she sent a pulse of well-being into the mother’s arm, the reverse bloodbending that Yugoda had showed her once, that gave strength instead of taking it.

Taimma relaxed at once, but her next breath shuddered, and her voice began to shake. “They don’t treat him like other children. They don’t treat _me_ the same any more. I thought they would just get used to him, in time. But now Gugan will never have a place in the Water Tribes. Where can we go, Master Katara? Who will take us now?” 

A sad, familiar tale, one she’d heard countless times in her travels with Aang. Yu Dao was one answer, but it couldn’t take them all.

“I could talk to my father and Gran Gran. Maybe you could stay here, get a fresh start.” Katara knew there was no real reason Kotan should be more accepting than Kivallit, but with the influence of her family, maybe a space could be made.

“I don’t know…” Taimma sounded doubtful, but Katara saw the flash of hope in her eyes.

“Why don’t you sleep on it. I’ll be staying in the healing hut tonight with my patients. You can take my pallet in the roundhouse. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

 

.............

 

“Katara?” Suki poked her head into the healing hut, three days later.

Katara sat on the table, chin in her hands, elbows on her knees, and kicking her feet gently, off them for the first time all day. Also, her eyes were closed, she realized.

“I brought you something to drink.”

“Thanks, Suki. I was just brewing some tea.” 

“This isn’t tea.” 

A leather flask was thrust under her nose, and Katara blinked hard at the fumes. “Oh!” She hesitated, then took a small swig.

“Kyoshi cherry brandy.”

Katara let the fire trickle down into her belly, finishing with a little shudder. “Nice,” she sighed.

“With a dash of Kivallit vodka.”

Katara giggled and took a bigger swallow. “Two cultures meet.”

“Mina’s bringing you some dinner here. After three days of healing night and day, you’re probably done with people for a while.”

“Yeah, I could do with some quiet.”

Mina backed into the hut just then, carrying a tray of grilled arctic chicken, stewed sea prunes, a stack of flatbreads, and more of that iceberry compote.

“That’s a feast! You must think I fought a battle here!”

“Didn’t you?” Mina said cheerfully, setting out the dishes.

“Well, share it with me, then. Both of you.”

They dug in, too busy eating to talk at first.

Suki was the first to slow down. “We saw the ship off today. I don’t know Chief Arnook well, so I hadn’t realized how anxious he’d been, but he looked like a weight had been lifted from his back.” 

“He did,” Mina agreed. “And Umilik and Ulap? Holding hands like teenagers and sniping at each other all the while. _Adorable.”_

Katara smiled. “It’s clear as fall’s first ice that they love each other more than life.” She picked at her bread. “Can you imagine being someone’s other half like that, no matter what happens, for all the winters of your life?” 

Mina sighed. “A girl can dream. I don’t know anyone here who’s had someone to grow old with, much less that kind of love. They’re very lucky.”

“I wonder what it takes?” Suki mused.

“Peace, for one thing,” Katara answered drily.

Katara’s parents, her grandparents and Mina’s, too—all torn apart by war, long before their hair went gray. All the elders of Kotan were widowed, and so many of the younger women, too.

“I don’t mean just surviving. I mean that partnership, _that bond._ How do you weave together two lives like that?

Mina looked at her quizzically. “I don’t think there’s a recipe, Suki.”

“Or a kata,” Katara added. Some kind of knowledge _had_ been lost, though. The families whose men had returned had a chance now, but all the men knew how to do was leave. A lot of igloos crackled with tension.

“I know. But it takes work. I’m just not sure what the… _tasks_ are.” 

Mina laughed. “It’s marriage! The work is running the family. And the _main_ task’s no mystery. From what I can tell, you and Sokka have _that_ well in hand.”

“Sex and marriage are two different things. You _can_ have one without the other, you know.”

“Ugh! Spirits save us from sexless marriages!” Mina groaned dramatically.

“I don’t think _you’ll_ be in any danger of that,” Katara giggled.

“Well, I have to find a _husband_ first!” Mina retorted. “Or at least a prospective husband.”

“I’ll give Anik another little push.” Katara wondered if Anik was even aware there were other young women in the village besides his waterbending master. She might need to be more blunt. 

“Hm. Your dad has other ideas,” Suki said meaningfully.

“My dad wants _me_ with Anik? Doesn’t he want Anik to settle down with a proper family?” Katara was confused—did they want her to marry after all? 

“That’s what he thinks you’re going to do. Karluk agrees. They say in the South, especially under current circumstances, being a healer’s no barrier to being a wife and mother.”

“To _them_ , maybe!” Mina objected. “Do they have any idea how much of a load they’d be asking Katara to carry?”

“Nope. Not a clue,” Suki reported.

“Were they planning to talk to _me_ about this? I’m definitely not marrying Anik, sorry. I mean, he’s cute, but…no.” She flashed a reassuring smile at Mina.

“Well, what about Iri?”

“Iri? What’s Iri got to do with anything?”

“That’s who Chief Karluk has in mind. Apparently, it would be a good alliance.”

Katara thought again of the clear, blue eyes, the chiseled jaw, the careless flop of brown hair. More than cute. And not clueless like Anik, or arrogant like Hahn or Jet (despite all the accolades he got for his designs and bending). Not intense and difficult like _some people._ Grounded and reliable. Very kind and considerate, too, come to think of it. When his attention was on you, it was _on you._ She felt a warm flush at the memory. “Iri, huh?" 

“Sokka thinks he’d be into it.” 

“He does?” Sokka and Iri talked about her?

“Looks like you might be, too.” Mina could always read her.

“Well…Chief Karluk’s not _wrong._  Ever since I decided to be the healer, I just thought…. But it’s been hard to imagine never having a partner. I was always going to get married. If I had a husband, would that make being the healer harder or easier? I just don’t know. There’s no model for this!”

“That problem again.” Mina shook her head. “No man I know is going to keep house for you. But if you do it Master Yugoda’s way, who are you going to be sleeping with? Because I’m not sharing _my_ man!” 

Katara burst out laughing. “Good point! I’d turn every woman in the village against me!” 

“Unless you sleep with them, too.” Suki winked.

“As if!” Mina asked, still laughing.

“Well, women do, you know.”

Mina stopped abruptly. “Do _what?”_

“Are you serious? You mean, you’ve never…?" 

Mina’s eyes were the size of sea prunes.

“Taken your pleasure with another girl,” Suki spelled out, looking from one to the other, apparently checking for clues they were putting her on. “I know Sokka’s clueless, but I just sort of assumed…with the men gone for so long….”

“That’s not generally done in the Water Tribes,” she told Suki a bit primly, trying to translate between the two. “Or, at least, not talked about. I’ve never _heard_ of it here.” She was well aware that it happened elsewhere—and how it worked with the Kyoshi Warriors.

“Well, there’s ‘no great mystery to it’—your words, Mina.” Suki teased her. “Girls have fingers, girls have tongues.”

Mina’s cheeks turned a darker shade than she’d ever seen. Katara had gotten used to the idea long ago, herself, though hadn’t felt much of an urge to try it out, with Suki or anyone else. She knew quite a bit about female genitalia and the only ones she was tempted to get busy with were her own. Mina seemed to be having a different reaction. 

“Anyway.” Katara rescued the poor girl. “What about you, Suki? Are you going to be Sokka’s other half? His one and only?”

“I think so?”

Katara and Mina exchanged a look—that didn’t sound like the conviction to back up a lifetime vow. 

Suki puffed out a lungful of air. “I love him completely. And I trust that he loves me. And if I’m prepared to put that love ahead of my commitment to the Kyoshi Warriors, which I’ve decided I am, then we should get married. Right?”

“If you love him that much, yes,” Mina agreed. “And I can see that you do.”

By Suki’s bittersweet smile, Katara knew she understood Mina’s loss. “You’re right, of course you’re right.”

“Your kids will need two parents. I mean, you don’t have Katara’s problem, do you? You _know_ who the father will be, and you know he’ll support you no matter what. And, the way you too get along, those kids’ll be along any day now,” she teased. 

“Oh, no. Sokka and I are very careful.”

“You don’t have to be. Nobody cares if a baby’s born a bit too soon after a wedding. Don’t you _want_ a baby?”

“Sure we do. Eventually. But we have our careers to think of. And if we really do get married, there are a lot of logistics to work out—where we’ll live and how and all that. It will be a while before we’re ready. A _long_ while.”

Nothing new there—except for the vehemence. What was Suki afraid of?

“You’ll be a great mother, Suki.”

“I know nothing about being a mother. How can you sound so sure?”

Katara shrugged. “Call it instinct. You’ll figure it out, Suki. You always do.”

 

水

 

* * *

 

計

 

It was the first night of the moon’s half of the year. The village had moved to its winter site on the ice shelf. The ice igloos were up in a wink, what with three waterbenders on hand, now with the astounding new addition of an indoor plumbing system, designed by Sokka (based on Iri’s models) and built by Pakku, Katara, and Anik. With a little teamwork and creativity, they worked out the techniques to lay a network of ice pipes, _and_ a means to keep them from freezing closed. Now they just had to convince everyone to use them.

“Hapo!” Sokka grabbed her arm as she ambled off to the watering hole with a large skin to fill. “Running water—you have running water now!” He guided her back to her shiny new igloo and reminded her how to run the tap. “See? No heavy waterskins to carry.”

“Oh, Sokka, what’ll you think of next?” Hapo laughed indulgently. “That’s some fancy city stuff there. What’s a tribeswoman like me to do with that?”

“Hapo, you’re not even thirty yet. Give it a chance—it’ll change your life!” He gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, gritting his teeth to keep the rant in check.

“Sokka!” Anik hailed him.

“My brother! It’s tipping time!” Sokka clapped him on the shoulder. The Equinox Festival marked the fulcrum of the year, day and night poised in perfect balance before tipping over, a farewell to one and a welcome to the other. There was fine food, music, and love, sundown to sundown. “Did you do this up in the mountains?”

“The equinoxes, yes. It’s mostly praying. And we feast on a goat-yak, if we can find one. But I’ve never seen _anything_ like this!” Delectable smells drifted through the tight alleyways of the village. Shouts and laughter echoed through the ice walls, and drumming beyond the walls vibrated the ice beneath their feet. Anik was visibly quivering with excitement, all his senses alert. Had Sokka looked like that at his first Fire Festival? Probably.

“Then I guess you’ll need a dance lesson. Come on!”

You had to dance, if you were young and single—hell, if you were _old_ and single. It wasn’t just the sun and the moon, after all; men and women and all the opposing principles faced each other as equals tonight, and matches were made.

Anik took to dancing with focus and enthusiasm, just like everything else he committed to. And when the girls came out, his eyes snapped to Katara, like they always did. Katara’s didn’t snap to his. Nope, that wasn’t happening. It didn’t stop Anik from dogging her footsteps with offerings of beer and fish. She seemed to accept him as a handy accessory—she must be used to it by now.

Was she also used to the eyes of all the other young men? (And some not so young.) Did she even notice? The dancers parted for her like water, making way for the star in their midst. It was no less than she deserved.

Katara could be happy here, he thought. With the respect and honor she was due, nurturing and guiding her people, and with family all around. Maybe things would even work out with Iri. Maybe she could be anchored the way they wanted, and still live her own life.

And Sokka? More than three years, and he still hadn’t found his true place in the postwar South Pole. He was a war hero, sure, but that was just stories now. He was always coming up with new technological improvements, but he wasn’t always convinced they were needed, or even wanted. Did plumbing on the ice shelf even make sense? Hapo didn’t think so, and she was hardly old-guard.

Honestly, the Southern Water Tribe’s traditional builders did pretty well, with a little practical help from the Northern benders. 

He could sail Candra, but he was no trader. He was a great shopper, but not a profiteer. Too many cool ideas out there to discover to be thinking about the bottom line all the time. 

But why did he _need_ a special role? He was part of the Tribe, woven into its fabric (with a few loose threads trailing across the oceans). He could still build his igloo and fill it with children, just like he’d always planned to.

Why did that sound…boring?

Suki, the never-boring, came up beside him and took his hand. “I think I understand now.”

“Understand?”

“What keeps you here. It’s more than just people that you love. It’s the whole fabric of this place. The customs, the rhythms of the seasons, the animals and plants that keep you alive—it’s all of a piece. Take something out of it and the pattern is changed forever.” 

Sokka nodded slowly, struck again by the clear-eyed way Suki encountered the world—every puzzle as clear as an ice pane to her eye. What she said was true (despite what he’d just been thinking).

“The war took _you_ out—you, Katara, your father.” 

“And Mom.” 

“And your mom. And you want to recover the pattern. Restore what was lost.” 

“Rebuild, not restore. You can never go back.”

“And if you come with me? If you split your life, between your world and mine, will you still be a part of the tribal organism? Or will I be ripping you out by your roots?” 

“I could ask the same of you.”

“It’s different.” 

He supposed it was, as long as she’d been away from home—perhaps the question there was whether she could be rerooted. They watched his people dance a while, saying nothing.

“Maybe that’s my role, though. Maybe it’s already happened.” 

“What has?”

“How I serve the tribe. I reach out, bring the best of the new world to them—technology, ideas, money. And stitch the Southern Water Tribe back into the fabric of the world. Leave it to the others to keep our old ways going here.”

Suki reached out and squeezed his hand tightly. “You’re quite a man, Sokka.”

But a man has his igloo, and in it his boys. Sokka saw them wrestling and giggling in the furs, stir-crazy in the long night of winter, curling up in his arms while they listened to the elders telling stories, nodding off in the lamplight. He had never imagined a future without them. Now that vision seemed as fragile as a paper lantern in the Fire Festival. 

He breathed deeply and held Suki tightly to him to fill the hole he’d just made. He would need _her_ , to do this. To be the man the war had made him.

“Suki.”

She lifted her head, and he knew she’d heard the ache in his voice.

“Marry me. Let’s not wait.”

Suki scanned his face, reading every quirk and crease, looked deep into his eyes like she was trying to find his soul. He wished he could know what she was thinking, what she was weighing in her mind. He knew all her concerns and her desires, but which one lay at the crux of this decision?

“All right, Sokka. Let’s not wait. We’ll tell your family tonight.”

 

計

 

* * *

 

冰

 

“Kanna.” 

She lifted her face to Pakku. The moonlight smoothed in the gouges age had hollowed from his face, and for a moment, she saw the arrogant, would-be hero who had courted her so passionately in another life. To her surprise, the nostalgic flare in her heart was met by a silly fizz in her belly, an echo of desires long ago spent.

She smiled—and knew by his answering smile that hers was from another time, too—and patted the pile of furs next to her, inviting him to sit. They would unpack all of this in the coming week, when they buckled down on winter preparations, no stop for breath until the first snow-in. But tonight was for pleasure.

Pakku handed her a cup.

“Ice wine! So fancy.”

“The last of the barrel I brought from Sirmiq City last year.” 

“You never went this year.” 

His eyes on the stars, he spoke lightly. “Summer Solstice came and went, and you were ill, and Katara wasn’t really up to speed here yet. And then there were ships to work on, all those conferences in Kivallit with Karluk and Hakoda and the others. Supervising Anik’s training, of course. It’s been hard to get away.” He shrugged, but his face confessed his care and worry.

“I’m not dead yet, Pakku.” She slapped him on the thigh to snap him out of it.

He caught her hand in his and held it tightly. “You most certainly are not.”

“And you should go see your grandchildren. You won’t recognize them next time.”

“They’’ll come see me soon enough. Hyo’s been thinking of moving the family here, actually. What with the incentives Karluk’s introduced to attract waterbenders from the North.” 

“Oh? Well, that’s a surprise.” Pakku had been defending his choice to come south for years, and his eldest son had been the most outspoken critic, a real anti-Southern snob. “Is that really a good idea?”

“I think it’s Hyo’s wife who changed his mind. The fact that he listened to _her_ is in and of itself is kind of promising.” He half turned to wink at her.

She couldn’t help her throaty giggle. Old women shouldn’t giggle—any more than penguin-otters should sing. How could he still have this effect on her, after all these years? There'd been a few decades to cool off, of course. But he'd been bending over backward to win her back since he’d shown up four years ago, trying every move he knew. Most of which had backfired, being based on chauvinistic notions of Northern ladyhood that had nothing to do with her any more. That narrow-mindedness was one reason she left, after all. 

But Pakku was smart, and when he was motivated, focused as a shark-hawk. He’d figured out what worked.

“Well, haven’t _you_ changed,” Kanna teased gruffly.

He chuckled, then let the smile fade, still gazing into her eyes, a crinkle in his forehead. “But have I changed enough? You have made me wait, Kanna. You have made me _prove_ myself. And your heart is worthy of these demands, so I have risen to meet them, as best I can.”

That he had. It had surprised and impressed her, his flexibility and tenacity. Maybe she owed Katara something for taking him on and taking him down.

“Kanna.” He reached across her lap and took her other hand, shifting to face her. “What do I still need to do? For you to accept my love?”

He didn’t sound impatient, he sounded sincere. When he’d arrived, she hadn’t trusted him, still a pompous ass—arrogant even to assume she’d _remember_ him. She hadn’t trusted the North. Wouldn’t trust anyone in the world that didn’t come from this village, from under her wings. There were good reasons for that. But the currents had shifted and the world had changed. People— _her_ people—had worked hard to make that happen, and were still at it. _Including_ Pakku. They weren’t going to just give up and let everyone return to their pockets of isolation. So she trusted him now.

“Pakku, I cook for you, sew for you, speak for you when you’re gone, sit by the fire with you when you’re here. What more could you possibly want from an old hag? Certainly not fun beneath the furs.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that.” His eyes twinkled scandalously and the look she returned delivered every ounce of skepticism she could muster—a lifetime’s wallop. “But you would? Still, that’s not the point. None of those things are, although they mean a lot to me. Kanna, I love you. I have never stopped loving you. I want to spend our last years on earth under the same roof, as husband and wife. _I_ want to care for _you._ Will you finally have me? Will you _marry_ me, Kanna?”

Her heart faltered, stumbled so heavily she thought her time might be ending a lot sooner than he had in mind. Why did _that_ scare her, more than any Fire Nation attack, more than any amount of blood and sweat she had spilled to keep the village alive? She’d loved her husband, Hakoda’s father, hadn’t she?

Not like this. Not the way her blood was pulsing hotter and harder than her old vessels could take. Not the way his clear blue eyes called her home.

What did she have to lose, any more? If she fell, her family could now stand on their own.  

“Yes.”

 

冰

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I struggled mightily with this one--I always seem to with Sokka and Suki stories. This is one of those that's extremely hard to write, yet pretty straightforward to read, and quite possibly boring. 
> 
> A lot of post-canon Suki fics seem to have her as a fecund mother presiding happily over an ever-expanding brood. Which is fine. But I don't see that as a given for her character, and am drawing different conclusions from her background.


	6. COMMITTED: Smoke Screen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Year 4, March.  
>  _** _**The Fire Nation**_
> 
> _Azula makes her escape._  
> 
> 
> _(Azula POV)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's move this along....

龍

 

Azula’s departure was meticulously planned. The only aspect of which the princess disapproved was that she had not planned it herself.

Zuko would never believe her sane. Siyaar had made one attempt, as Dr. Nari, to petition the Court for her release, not expecting success. His crown was safe only as long as Azula was officially “unfit to rule,” and he knew it, usurper that he was. The front door was not the way out.

A dramatic escape, on the other hand, would only set the eel-hounds after them, and Fire Nation police forces were quick and lethal as ever. Quick, at least. Zuko probably just locked the criminals up and sent them fruit baskets. She agreed with Siyaar, a quiet disappearance was best.

In the meantime, Azula’s life proceeded as it had. Each morning, she rose with the sun and meditated in its first golden light—this regimen unchanged since childhood. Meditation fed her qi, pooling her power and focusing her intentions for the day ahead. Or that’s how it used to work. In the Sanitorium, everything seemed thinner, flatter. The gold seemed yellow, her power diffuse and difficult to gather, puddled. And while she still articulated her intentions, they failed to manifest more often than not. Somehow they never aligned with what was happening around her.

Every day included psychiatric therapy and other treatments. But Azula now rarely saw the other doctors; “Dr. Nari” had gradually taken over Azula’s psychiatric care. Siyaar was not boasting idly about her manipulation skills. If there was dissent among the staff, Azula heard none of it. Without their knowledge—or, at least, objections—Azula had been weaned from the medicines that clouded her mind and kept her docile and soft. Instead of tedious counseling sessions exploring her subconscious feelings and “relationships” with her family (she had run out of stories to shock and titillate them with—or maybe she’d just gotten bored), Azula now had debriefings with Siyaar on developments in world politics since her confinement had begun.

This was vastly preferable. There was much to learn—Iroh had given her only half truths and Zuzu even less. The staff were forbidden from speaking of politics at all, encouraging her instead to contemplate the aesthetic pleasures of the Sanitorium gardens.

When she was returned to power, Azula would have all poetry burned.

Finally in possession of a detailed account of what had been done to the Fire Nation since the Usurper’s capitulation to the Avatar, Azula itched to escape this colorless mind-prison. To raise her nation once more from its unjust humiliation. There was _work_ to be done.

The adjustments to her treatment had the predictable effect of intensifying Azula’s discontent and emotional “instability” (since the good doctors apparently believed that stable people _enjoy_ imprisonment and endless repetition). This elicited concern among the medical staff, even as they acknowledged that her lucidity was showing marked improvement, as measured by the battery of assessments administered at irritatingly frequent intervals.

Dr. Nari engaged with her colleagues in long and sympathetic conferences over their royal patient and ultimately persuaded them that she should take Azula on a calming retreat to the mountains for a change of scene—alone. That it was, in fact, the routine predictability in this unnaturally sterile environment that was so distressing to her, and that since Dr. Nari was the only doctor so far to form any sort of a bond with the princess, it would do her good to focus on that bond without distraction. Azula found it highly improbable that the staff would accept this illogical conclusion, yet they did: “mindbending,” indeed.

Azula was to breathe the clear mountain air and soak in the restorative hot springs, generally communing with nature, at Dr. Nari’s own private estate in the Naywain Mountains to the west —actually her own home, and a well-positioned fortification, Siyaar explained in private, connected to the port below by hidden tunnels. Only a handful of the Sanitorium’s most trusted servants would accompany them.

Tiresomely, the Fire Lord’s personal approval would be required even to remove the princess from the premises under guard. The Sanitorium staff obligingly proceeded with preparations for the journey as they awaited a reply to Dr. Nari’s application for permission. Which Siyaar had not actually sent. It was Azula who forged the Fire Lord’s authorization, and easily enough. She had mastered Zuko’s hand years ago, all those evenings alone in the Palace, copying his letters from exile character by character to pass the hours, Father having forbidden her from answering them.

Strange how these memories were returning to her now, in coherent sequence. Siyaar was right: she had never been ill, it was only the drugs.

They embarked openly and with smiling farewells on a spring morning, strolling up into the hills. Flowering acacias showered yellow, honey-scented sparks down upon them, spinning Azula’s head. Rays of brilliant sunlight penetrated her skull, injecting pure oxygen, unadulterated fuel to her soul. Freedom fell beneath her feet—Azula began to dance. Each step ignited an explosion of pure gold. She leapt and twirled, in a cloud of saffron stars of her own creation, beholden to no gravity or tether—

“Azula.” Siyaar’s voice landed, a falling rock. “Why are you just standing there? We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Azula's returned to her body. Which had never danced. One foot and then the other, she detached from the ground and drew herself forward, collected and coordinated. “Coming, Dr. Nari.”  

Two nights later, in a secluded valley, they slit the throats of their servants in their sleep. Azula’s hands executed the motions precisely as they had been trained, drawing the blade across Puka’s throat. They shook only because of the nausea, and that was only natural, with the blood. So _much_ blood. Firebending could have drawn attention. Ursa danced before her eyes, shimmering through the dark starbursts that bloomed in her vision.

Azula walked, focusing on her dusty steps, until she could once again see Siyaar ahead of her and not the sister.

On the fourth day, they descended from an arid mountain pass and laid eyes upon their destination. Perched precariously on stairstep ledges up the side of the mountain, the castle commanded a stunning view of foothills descending to rice fields, fish ponds, and far to the west, the sea—a thin, silver line marking the horizon. Siyaar offered Azula no time to appreciate the setting, but led her directly inside, through a maze of narrow corridors which continued into the mountainside. Now they were tunneling into the heart of the mountain, leaving the castle far behind them.

“I had hoped I might get a moment to take in the family estate,” Azula objected politely.

Siyaar looked at her blankly. “But it’s not _our_ family.”

Azula stilled, rendering herself unreadable. “Is it not your home?”

“Only temporarily.” Siyaar looked confused for the first time since Azula had known her. “Do you not know where your mother’s family is _from?”_

“It…must have slipped my mind. We are the Fire Nation royal family.” She smothered her uncertainty with hauteur. “That is all that matters.”

Siyaar raised her eyebrows at that, then sighed. “What a ridiculous notion. Let me translate that for you. Your father meant: ‘No one but _me_ matters.’ Surely you understand that about him by now.”

“Ah.” But he had loved _Azula_ , his chosen heir. They had mattered together. And he had _not_ forgotten.

“I’m simply making use of an abandoned resource—this family’s long gone, lost in the war, and the lands run themselves, so I’ve claimed the castle. And I made this.”

They rounded a corner into a green glow and stepped down into a round cavern, lit from all sides by orderly arrays of glowing green crystals. The walls were smooth, the dimensions perfectly circular—not the work of mere shovels and chisels. “But how could _you_ —?”

Siyaar smiled indulgently at her surprise. “With the help of some old friends of yours.” She clapped once, sharply.

A doorway appeared in the featureless wall and a man walked through. A man in darkest green robes, eyes shaded by a conical hat crowned with a knob. At the sight of the princess, he stopped short, then sank to one knee. “Your Highness. You have returned.”

“Dai Li.” Azula breathed.

“Well, since _you_ so carelessly discarded them, someone had to take them in. Didn’t I, Pebbles?”

The Dai Li agent flushed. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that, Siyaar,” he muttered.

Azula narrowed her eyes at her aunt, but said nothing about the too-intimate exchange. “I assumed you would have been executed by Zuko by now,” she said to the agent, whose actual name she could not recall.

“Ah, no, Your Highness. Siyaar took us back in immediately and brought us here.”

“Took you _back_ …?”

Siyaar’s eyes bored into Azula’s the way Father’s did when he willed her to solve a complex gambit. “How have you not asked where I have been all these years? Your wits were weakened in the Sanitorium.”

By Agni, she was right. Azula forced her mind through every clue Siyaar had given her over the past weeks. “You were in the Earth Kingdom, of course.” Ergo, the Dai Li. “Clearly you could not have been in the Fire Nation. Because…you look like my mother.” There was a line of reasoning there. “And considering that Father tolerated no memory of my mother’s life before her marriage, he could not have suffered you to be at large, looking just like her.”

Siyaar nodded, stern but encouraging. “Sound thinking thus far.”

“Why were you banished?”

“For the right reason: because I failed—where Ursa, incredibly, succeeded later. _She_ was banished for reasons of political expedience. Or more accurately, _cowardice.”_

“Cowardice. He was afraid of what she’d done.” Azula knew what she’d done. Or she had known, once. What had happened that night with the screaming and the weeping.“And what she knew.” What had she known? “Father feared she could have held that over him, even used it to take him down, perhaps groomed Zuko and acted as his regent.” That part was easy. Father was straightforward.

“Hypothetically, but Ursa could never have conceived of such a plan, and even if she had, she would have lacked the ambition and ruthlessness to follow it through. As you well know. But Ozai, who cannot _see_ people for who they truly are, saw only the threat, not the heart beating beneath it.” Siyaar shook her head regretfully. “Launching his reign on a decision made in fear. Paranoia makes a poor foundation for a regime. But you have _personal_ experience with that, don’t you, Azula?”

She forced down the bile that burned her throat and threatened to choke her. Guilt, terror, desperation: useless emotions. She held them tight in her gut. “I made unfortunate decisions on my coronation day. It is well that you protected my agents.”

Siyaar smiled warmly and almost looked like her mother again. “It’s all right. Failures are nothing but opportunities to learn from our mistakes. Ozai could not begin to understand that. But _you_ —you are better than that.”

Better than…what? Azula wondered. No one was better than Father. The words spoke themselves automatically in her mind. And yet…what Siyaar said made far more sense.

“Never mind. You must be hungry. Agent Lang, if you would be so kind.”

“Of course, Lady Siyaar.” The agent bent a stone table and stools up from the floor, then briskly clapped his hands twice. A few minutes later, more Dai Li agents appeared, one after the other, bearing a succession of dishes, quite competently prepared. When the plate of sliced fruit was delivered, she returned to her inquiries.

“So how, dear Aunt, did you secure the loyalty of my Dai Li?”

“Did you never wonder why they transferred their allegiance to you so easily in Ba Sing Se? So seamlessly?”

“Because I promised them a coup, in which I pretended to ally myself with the man from whom they took their orders and claimed that they were otherwise already at the mercy of the Earth King and his Council, thus cornering them. And then threatened to kill anyone who disobeyed me, naturally. This earned their respect, and ultimately their loyalty, when I supplanted Long Feng.”

“I was so proud of you, Azula. You cannot imagine. You were _perfection_. But I recall that you achieved this maneuver in, what, one day? You are a prodigy indeed, but no one takes a national government, in whole, without resistance, in _one day_. Not without years of carefully laid groundwork in place.”

“What are you saying, Aunt?”

“They were _my_ Dai Li first.”

 

龍

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Yes, I did change the name of this chapter. I waffled between two military strategies: "High Ground" and "Smoke Screen"; went with "High Ground" for about a month, but it didn't sit right. This is more of a sleight-of-hand affair.)


	7. HERO'S RETURN: The AANG Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Year 4, April.  
>  _** _**Yu Dao (The Fifth Nation)**_
> 
> _Aang returns to the scene._  
> 
> 
> _(Aang POV; Toph POV)_

They threw a party for him the night he returned.

The shrieks and the hugs when he opened the door to the Aspiring Air Nomad Guild (AANG) House in that homey corner of Yu Dao—he expected those. It was the volume that surprised him. Balam, Xing Ying, Hei Won, Yee Li, plus one, two, three...at least fifteen more? There were some guys in the group now. He recognized a few as regulars from the fan club meetings, but there were a lot of new faces, too. Almost all were dressed in Air Nomad yellow and orange.

“Wow! You’re not _all_ living here now, are you?”

“You’d be surprised,” Xing Ying answered, in a carefully neutral tone.

The party seemed to grow out of the walls. Jugs of rice wine appeared as if by magic, followed by pots of seasoned potatoes and pans of fried tofu, beer, potato wine, and a few fruit pies that were devoured almost instantly. And then there were more people. Aang had thought the house was already at capacity, but apparently not. Soon it and the courtyard were packed and spilling out into the alley, raucous laughter echoing off the stone walls.

It was surely everyone who had ever attended an AANG meeting, and possibly everyone those people knew, and they all wanted to meet the Avatar. 

“Avatar Aang!” A bright-faced young man popped up in Aang’s path. “I can’t believe it!”

Yee Li appeared beside him. “Xil travelled here all the way from Chameleon Bay! You’ve got to hear him play the flute."

"I'd love to!"

"Let’s go find you a flute, Xil.” And they darted off, calling, “We’ll be right back!”

Balam appeared at his elbow. “Aang, I really want you to meet my brother, Jasuk—he was just here a moment ago…I can’t see him now….” She leaned in towards Aang and said just for his ears, “I am so proud of him for being here. Accepting our airbender heritage was a big step for him—he’s a hardcore Earth loyalist.”

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere. Just introduce me later—I’d love to meet him!”

As Balam went off to find her brother, three girls appeared, bowing in unison. “The Piao sisters,” Xing Ying enlightened him, with an approving nod. “They’ve come from Ba Sing Se to _study_.”

“We wish to understand the spiritual wisdom of the Airbenders,” one of them explained gravely. “The world has forgotten,” the second continued, “but now we must learn how to live in peace.” The third finished, “To learn from you, Avatar Aang, the Last of the Airbenders, would be an honor far beyond anything we've dreamed of.”

Aang smiled serenely and bowed to them in return, but before he could reply, a shrill fanfare cut him off. A pair of musicians had set up in the courtyard and a drum and a loud reed instrument of some kind began pounding out dance tunes, so instead of digging up an old aphorism, he took their hands and led them in a circle dance.

Aang flitted through the crowd all evening, meeting and greeting, making everyone happy.

But it had been a long day of travel and the wine was making him sleepy. Eventually, he settled himself on some cushions in the main room of the house near the meditation altar, Yee Li and Hei Won at his side.

“Are you ok, Aang?”

“Just tired, Yee Li.”

“Maybe this will help.” She knelt behind him and began to knead her fingers into his shoulders.

“Mmm. That feels nice. Thanks.” Aang closed his eyes. Yee Li was really good at this, teasing out the tension in his neck and back, releasing the knots. He sighed softly. Hei Won leaned her head against his arm, a comforting presence.

The buzzing press of people in the room was too dense to see much beyond the three of them, but he was dimly aware of a spot of unnatural stillness near the door.

He felt too good to care. Hei Won was soft and warm, pressed up against him. And Yee Li’s fingers were sending spirals of pleasure down his spine into his sacrum. He didn’t want to think about anything.

But the stillness came closer.

“Don’t you look cuddly, Twinkletoes.”

Aang’s eyes popped open to a smirk and a pair of cloudy, green eyes. “Oh, hey, Toph!” He jumped to his feet—maybe a little more sluggishly than usual (his legs felt like jelly)—and wrapped her in a hug.

“I got tired of waiting for you.”

“I’m sorry, Toph! I was headed your way, of course. It’s just that... _this_ happened.” He waved an arm around at the room (with a little extra breeze to help her see his gestures).

“So I heard. Along with everyone else in this quarter. Half the people are shuttering their windows against the din, and the other half are here.”

“Heh, well. I guess it’s a good night for a party.”

“Only because you’re here. They all want to say they drank with the Avatar.”

“Can we offer you a drink, Master Toph?” Hei Won asked politely.

“Again, just _Toph,_ Hei Won. Yeah, sure, why not.”

 

氣

* * *

石

 

Toph attempted to mingle. She really didn’t want to disturb Aang’s cozy little whatever. If he was getting some action, she had no complaints. Love the one you’re with, and all that. Better than that unrequited bullshit.

She had some complaints about the rest of it, though—didn’t like parties like this. The cacophony of heartbeats, shuffling feet, bumping bodies, beneath the overlapping conversations and laughter, made it hard to think. And extremely hard to tell one individual from another, when most were strangers. She’d only zeroed in on Aang so quickly because he was at the center of it all. And, of course, she could find _that_ heartbeat in a crowd of millions. 

Toph didn’t like to admit it, but not being able to make eye contact actually _was_ a handicap at these things. At least, that had to be what it was, when people mysteriously honed in on each other and came together like magnets. She could handle the talking and flirting, and she knew people noticed her (though she couldn’t always pick out exactly _when_ it was _her_ they were noticing). But she couldn’t draw them in, short of yelling in their ear or scooting them over on a cobblestone. Not seductive, she’d found.

Eventually, she ended up by herself in the courtyard, leaning against the wall of the house, trying to look casual with her drink.

“I know you! Aren’t you—you are! ‘The Greatest Earthbender in the World!’”

Toph perked up. Something familiar there. 

“I knew I’d find you someday! I never got the chance to thank you properly, Master Toph.” She could hear the grin on the kid’s face. Was that...Velvet? His voice had deepened and he was taller, but it sure sounded and smelled like the same helpless runaway she’d rescued from bandits not once but _twice_ two winters ago on that journey from Ba Sing Se to Yu Dao. “And now that I know who you _are_ , what you did in the war, and for the Avatar—”

“No thanks necessary. It’s just what I do.” Toph cut him off with a sharp gesture. “You haven’t been in Yu Dao all this time.” It wasn’t a question. She would have known. “Did you run away from Ba Sing Se again?”

“Run away? I don’t run away. I’m just a simple traveler, like yourself. What makes you think…?” Velvet petered out when he realized his lies weren’t landing.

“You’re no simpler than I am, kid. Well, no, you might be. But you’re definitely not ordinary. You reek of money. Regular people don’t bathe with perfumed soap, wear fur-trimmed velvet on the road, or get mugged at every milestone. I hope you’ve picked up some self-defense tricks by now.”

“Oh…I’m not a peasant, no. You got me there. I do much better on my own now. I took some lessons back home.” She heard the ring of a sword as he drew it a few inches out of the sheath at his hip—a thin, effete thing.

“Good. That’s good. Gotta know how to protect yourself if you’re making a habit of running away.”

“Why do you keep assuming that?”

“Ba Sing Se nobility don’t let their heirs roam the highways unattended.”

There was a disgruntled silence. “Fine. Yeah, I got out again. I _hate_ that city.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

“I’m Kiza.”

“Nice to meet you, Kiza.”

There was an awkward pause. He cleared his throat and murmured under his breath, “I’m holding out my hand.” As if helping her save face. As if anyone else was even paying attention.

“Oh, sorry.” She grabbed it and shook it. For some reason her cheeks felt warm. His hand was soft—of course it was, he was pampered—but it felt good. It was a nice hand, long-fingered and nimble, with a balanced grip.

 _“There_ you are!” A pair of fairy-feet touched ground beside her. “You about ready to go? I could do with that pallet on your floor.”

“You’re not—” she hesitated, not wanting to air the Avatar's private business. “You’re not staying here tonight?”

“What? I usually stay with you. _Oh…_ ” He connected the dots and gave a nervous giggle. “Nah, nothing like that. I’m, uh, way too tired.” So, still a virgin then.

She noticed then that Velvet’s heart was pounding louder, nervous and excited. “Oh—Aang, this is Kiza. Kiza, Aang.”

“Hi, Kiza.”

Velvet gave a reverent bow. “Avatar Aang. I am deeply honored. You are—um—thank you for world peace.”

“You’re welcome, as far as that goes," he laughed. "Peace is something every one of us has to work on every day, though.”

“Oh, I want to do my part, I do.”

“Good, that’s good.” Aang gave Kiza an encouraging pat on the back, then stifled a yawn.

“Ready, Toph?” 

“When you are.”

“But Master Toph—will I see you again?”

“Sure, kid. You’ll see me again.”

They moved towards the gate, but were intercepted by Balam within just a few steps.

“Before you go, Aang!” Balam tugged a stocky man away from his companions. “This is Jasuk, my brother!” 

“Of course—I can see the family resemblance! It’s great to meet you, Jasuk.” Toph felt a light swoosh of air as Aang dived for the man, who stiffened defensively before raising his arms obligingly to accept the hug. Probably someone more used to being attacked than embraced—not unusual for war veterans, and he was surely that. 

“And you, Avatar Aang.” Jasuk detached himself with a hearty pat to both of Aang’s shoulders. Unlike Kiza’s, his heartbeat was rock-steady. “You’ve taken quite an interest in my family. I must thank you for that.”

“Oh, no. It is I who must thank your family. Balam has done so much. How long have you been in town?”

“Years, actually. But only got involved here this winter, by the grace of my little sister, of course.”

“You are always welcome here. And these are your friends?”

Introductions continued among a gregarious group of slightly older guests, probably well into their twenties, who seemed to know Jasuk well.

Twinkletoes gave each of them a little attention before moving on, parting the crowd with cheery goodnights to everyone he passed, Toph in his wake.

 

石

* * *

氣

  

Aang let himself sleep in, sleep off the wine, sleep off the travel. It was something like noon before he made it back to the AANG House. Aspiring Air Nomads indeed—it did look like a band of drunken airbenders had blown through. Bottles and debris were strewn everywhere and random articles of clothing hung from the eaves.

Xing Ying and the Piao sisters were seated in the center of the courtyard not looking the least bit hungover. ~~~~

“…air, that can evaporate water or consume it, and air that quells heat or fuels fire. The earth is carved by the wind, metal is corroded. _Life itself depends first upon air.”_ Xing Ying read from the scroll she held before her with a musical cadence that reminded Aang of his childhood teachers. “And thus we know air to be the superior element.”

“Good morning, everyone!” he called out cheerfully as he crossed the courtyard in a couple of light bounds, once she’d read the final line.

“Good _afternoon,_ Avatar Aang,” Xing Ying answered pointedly.

Aang ignored her tone. “What’re you doing?”

“We’re just finishing our daily study session. Students, please review the 39th scroll of Abbott Tenzin for tomorrow’s discussion. And do not neglect your daily bending forms. The qi will flow even if the air does not.” Xing Ying rolled up her notes and tucked them into her sleeve. “The other Acolytes should be cleaning up inside. Have you eaten yet?”

Together, they entered the house, hopping over a snoring body curled up on the rug. The room was still draped with semi-conscious partiers who seemed to have fallen where they stood. Dishes clattered in the back and Balam poked her head through the kitchen door wiping her hands on a towel. “Done with class? Oh, hi, Aang! I was just putting together some lunch. I’ll grab another bowl.”

A few minutes later, she emerged from the kitchen with a tray, followed by Yee Li and Hei Won. They turned uncertainly in the center of the room, looking for a reasonable spot to sit and eat; the courtyard was clearly the best option, so they went back out.

“Looks like it got pretty wild last night?”

Balam settled down at a stone table, poured the tea for everyone, and didn’t answer until they’d all had a sip. The three students sat at another table, heads bent over their scrolls as they drank their tea.

“They were just excited that you’re back,” Balam sighed with her patient smile.

“And you’re always talking about how Air Nomads were so good at finding the fun in life!” Yee Li added with a bright smile, though her eyes looked a little bloodshot.

Hei Won chuckled in agreement. “That’s pretty much what this whole scene is about.”

“Scene? What scene?”

“The AANG scene.”

“I have a scene now? Is that more than a fan club?”

“Well, there’s us at the core of it, of course, and this house,” Balam explained. “The Acolytes and the students—the regular club members. But ever since the Ten-Minute War, you’ve become, what? A _star_ , I guess you could say. An icon to the people of Yu Dao.”

“And _sooo_ cool.” Aang hadn’t realized Xing Ying had that level of sarcasm in her. And didn’t know what to think, that it was directed at him. She must have noticed his reaction, because she hurried to add, “Not that you’re _not_ cool, Aang. It’s just that…..”

“Wait, who are the Acolytes?”

“Us of course,” Balam answered.

“Oh, but we haven’t discussed it with you yet.” Xing Ying put a hand to her mouth, exchanging an embarrassed glance with Balam.

“Oops. Well, now that there are so many club members, and so many people beyond that who just want to be associated with you, or us, since we’re the closest they can usually get, we felt like we needed a name that explained who _we_ are. Xing Ying, Hei Won, Yee Li, and me, the ones who’ve studied and practiced and committed.”

“The ones with tattoos.” Aang said flatly.

The others dropped their eyes and looked uncomfortable, but Balam kept her eyes on his. “Yes. Yee Li never got them, but she’s certainly qualified for them now—I mean, by our former standards, before we met you, and you...dissuaded us. And we completely understand your objection to them now. You know that. But don’t you think that it still _matters_ , what we’ve done for the Air Nomads?”

“Yes! Oh, yes. The way that you’ve committed yourselves to the Air Nomad legacy _matters_. You’ve been more than a support. You _challenge_ me. I might never have decided to make that spirit trip back to Avatar Su and seen how to resolve the Yu Dao crisis if not for you. I never would have found that lead to the hidden airbender community, either.”

“This is the path we have chosen,” Xing Ying said.

“It’s our destiny,” Hei Won said softly.

“So we thought, maybe we’ll call ourselves ‘acolytes’?” Balam continued. “Assisting you in your spiritual duties, rebuilding your culture?”

“Yeah...it does sound good. A lot more serious than a ‘fan club,’ or even a guild. But is it enough?”

“It’s accurate, so it’s enough,” Xing Ying declared.

“And _some_ of the new arrivals are serious, they’re here to study—as you’ve seen,” Balam continued, with a gesture at the other table, where the Piao sisters had been joined by Jasuk and Xil, yawning a bit. “So we’re setting up more formal study groups, to guide them through the readings, and we’re organizing training drills to teach the physical aspects we’ve already mastered—”

“And you’d like me to lead them? You’re on! I’ve had some ideas for how to teach circular breathing to non-benders. It’s really important for mastering the principle of Eternal Flow, you know?”

“Yes, we assigned a reading on that last week,” Hei Won said. “But we really could use your help in the bending forms.”

“Wow, you’re on top of it. You really _are_ acolytes.”

“But not airbenders. Did you find any leads to more survivors in the Fire Nation?”

Aang shook his head sadly. “No one came forward—and they would, wouldn’t they? There’s no reason to hide any more….”

“It was a longshot anyway,” Balam sighed. “Maybe we should maybe try another expedition into the mountains, then, to find out what happened to my grandfather’s community. Because you _are_ going to need more than acolytes to rebuild your nation.”

“There’s an easier way,” Yee Li pointed out.

Aang’s mind skidded into the most pleasurable way to make more airbenders—as it often did when Yee Li came to his attention—and he concentrated on keeping his skin cool to hide his blush. It didn’t work.

“I don’t think that’s what she meant.” Hei Won said dryly.

Yee Li blushed, too. “No, I was thinking of the new arrivals who are claiming Air Nomad descent. People like Balam.”

“But look how much trouble we’ve gone to already to verify just _my_ heritage. And we still haven’t proved it beyond a doubt.”

“We can’t go flying off into the wilderness to trace down every single family tree,” Aang agreed. “I mean, I’d love to! But I’d never find the time, what with everything.”

Balam shook her head and considered the problem.

“Is there any way to _tell?”_ Hei Won leaned in. “From the person herself? Like, her spirit or something?”

“Read someone’s spirit? I wouldn’t know how to do that.”

“Is that where someone’s airbender-ness lies? In the spirit? Or is it in the blood?” Xing Ying inquired.

“Well…both, I guess. Whether you’re a bender or not is a combination of bloodline and something spiritual. Iroh says it has to do with location, too. The right kind of convergence of all three.”

“All right. But we can be pretty sure there isn’t anyone left with that combination but you,” Balam said.

 _Can we?_ Aang wondered. He still held a thread of hope that someone else, somewhere, had survived. Even if they would be as old as King Bumi now.

“But,” she went on, “people can carry one or more of those and have bender potential, right? At least, the potential to birth a bender?”

“It seems so, yeah. Lots of benders have nonbending parents.”

“Then we will simply look for _any_ of those three attributes. Trace someone’s heritage, find out where they were born and then…how do we read their spirit?” Xing Ying wondered.

“I guess I’ll have to work on that. So far, I’ve just got intuition, and it’s vague. But maybe there’s something more, something I could learn to recognize…?” He thought of Katara’s ability to follow the flow of a person’s qi, and the way Toph’s feet could read more about a person than they knew about themselves.

The bright tinkle of chimes announced a visitor at the gate, and Balam went to open it. A young woman strode in with a presence that far outstripped her size, sunshine in her smile.

“Lahar!” Yee Li jumped to her feet with a little shriek. An audible thrill blew through the courtyard as the new arrival embraced Balam and Xing Ying like friends. Aang was still trying to remember where he’d met her before.

Her eyes lit up when they landed on him. “Avatar Aang, what an honor!” She bowed deeply and formally.

“The honor is mine, I’m sure,” he responded in kind. Elite Fire Nation, by her bow, but her tunic was a hybrid of Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation styles, androgynous and belted over an undershirt and pants, and the colors of all four nations were represented on her body. Now that her grin had relaxed, the serious planes of her face clicked into place: “You’re Governor Fosek’s daughter!” Who’d been part of the militant Yu Dao resistance movement that had tried to have Zuko assassinated!

The alarming memory must have shown on his face, because she immediately assured him, “Yes, and I’m now proud to be doing my part in the creation of a new nation of harmony and tolerance—a model for the rest of the world. Thanks to you!”

“Lahar is running for the new Congress,” Xing Ying filled him in.

“And she’ll win, if we have anything to say about it!” Yee Li gushed.

“Fortunately, you do have a say, each one of you,” Lahar reminded them. “One citizen, one vote! The foundation of our new nation. I’m going door-to-door to check in with residents—with _voters_ —to introduce myself and my vision. But more importantly, to listen and learn, so that I understand what is important to the citizens of Yu Dao. And of course to make sure that you all know _how_ to vote when the time comes.”

“I thought Yu Dao had been electing its own City Council for a long time?” Aang asked.

“Yes, but only Fire Nation citizens could vote. Now, we _all_ count, we will _all_ have representation, no matter what element’s in our blood. Will you be voting, Avatar Aang?”

“Oh, um, I don’t think so. I should be neutral. And I’m really not a Yu Dao citizen anyway, it’s just that my—uh—Acolytes are here. But tell me about your ideas!”

They offered the candidate a cup of tea and she sat down with them. Lahar painted them a picture of a prosperous city-state that would embrace a rainbow of diversity—just like the vision Aang had been promoting in the Fire Nation. But Lahar had concrete plans, too. She talked through a wide-ranging agenda for dismantling the systematic discrimination that favored Fire-heritage citizens in employment, for developing a new school curriculum to teach egalitarian values, and for designating election day a national holiday so that voting would become a community celebration.

As the Colonial—now Interim—Governor’s daughter, she understood how the city actually ran, and knew instinctively how to gauge public opinion and win people over. Not that she was having much difficulty in _this_ household. Her passion was infectious, and the Aspiring Air Nomads had already caught the bug.

“You can see why she’s a shoe-in to win,” Hei-won said to Aang. “People are already talking about a ‘President Lahar’ someday.”

“Or Queen, perhaps?” Jasuk interjected. “After all, the form of government has not yet been decided.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Balam said, with an indulgent look at her older brother. “Although support for some sort of ‘democracy,’ as the Ba Sing Se University political philosophers are calling it, seems widely favored. And if it’s to be decided by a vote, I find it hard to believe that the decision would be for less voting!”

Jasuk laughed as she did. “Fair enough, dear sister.”

“You know, the Air Nomads were governed by councils of elder monks and nuns who came to decisions by consensus,” Xing Ying offered.

“And I’ve heard that the Southern Water Tribe does something similar—though I’m not sure about the consensus part,” added Xil.

Aang sat back, uncharacteristically quiet amidst the cheerful banter and planning, yielding center stage to Lahar. Earth, Fire and Air ran in their veins—and for all anyone knew, Water, too—born in lands from east to west, and now they sought to combine the wisdom of the Air Temples, the philosophy of Ba Sing Se, and the organization of the Fire Nation’s empire, appreciating the best each nation had to offer. This was what his own people had always seen on their journeys on the wind, appreciating the world for what it was and loving everyone. Until now, there hadn’t been a way to share the broad view, to make it real and useful to the ones who couldn’t fly. Somehow, Aang had unlocked that possibility, this new future that he’d been blind to until someone had made him see the past.

He should probably just listen now.

.............

 

“Toph, how do you sense what’s in someone’s heart?” Aang walked with Toph through the city and out across the marina.

“You mean their truth? I feel their biorhythms, body temperature, all those subtle little movements they’re not even aware of. I’ve explained that to you before.”

“Yeah, I know. It sounds so…physical. But don’t you just have a gut feeling, too? You seem to know right away.”

“I guess. I do just _know_. But if I ask myself how, then it’s all those specific tells. It’s not magic.”

“Right.” What were the “tells” of an airbender soul, then?

“This, however.” Toph stopped and flung her arms wide. _“This_ might be magic.”

They stood at the edge of a vast, raw wound in the earth, well over a hundred feet across and now filled with sea water from the harbor—what had been the mouth of the Yu River. At the far distant end, it had broken through the isthmus connecting the city to the mainland was broken, and Yu Dao was now a true island. A makeshift bridge had been constructed at northern end, where the channel was narrow, bottlenecking the main road at busy times. Nothing spanned it at this end, where it opened into the southern harbor—that would take some serious engineering.

Aang couldn’t couldn’t sense the bottom of the chasm, extending his earthbending senses to their limit. He peered into the depths and felt nauseous—and not just from vertigo.

“They’re calling it ‘Aang’s Rift.’”

His heart plummeted. “Of course they are.” It was his, all right. Along with every life it had swallowed.

“Hey there.” Toph took his hand and squeezed it. “That’s behind us now. You needed to stop a war. You got their attention. And now Yu Dao is free and the people have this thrilling tale of how their independence was won. You know, the Jade Island Theater is already rehearsing a show—it even has decent special effects, apparently.”

Aang lifted his eyes to the opposite bank and watched a farmer tilling his fields with his badgerbuffalo. They slowly made their way right up to the edge and made a perilous turn at the end of the row, knocking a few stray clods into the water with a soft splash.

“I don’t think it’s behind _him.”_ He pointed when she didn’t seem to know who he was talking about. Her earthbending senses probably couldn’t span the gap. “That farmer. I cost him at least an acre of his land.”

“And that’s why we’re here.”

“So what’s the plan, then?" 

She blew her bangs off her face with a frustrated huff. “I tried sealing it up. I tried bending an arch straight across. But it just doesn’t behave normally. I don’t know what you did here, Aang.” She shook her head. “Not like any earthbending I’ve ever seen.”

He groaned and rubbed his scalp with both hands. “That’s because I wasn’t just _earth_ -bending.”

“Huh?” 

“I was in the Avatar State. I just, kind of, _bent_. Everything. Earth, water, air, the heat under the earth, all at the same time. Just tore it apart.”

“That's intense, Aang. So…do you have to be in the Avatar State to put it back?” 

“Uh, I’m not sure.” Aang squinted at the water and tried to gauge the depth again. “Welp, here goes nothing.”

He took a waterbending stance a few feet back from the edge and began to lift the sea out in a surging wave. Yells of alarm in the distance stopped him. He’d nearly capsized some fishing boats in the harbor. “Nope, we need a real plan.”

They tried several, but in the end, there was no straightforward way to repair the damage. A ferry system was organized and Aang promised to bring the puzzle to Ba Sing Se’s finest engineers. Yet despite the inconvenience of losing farmland and infrastructure and having to redraw all of their maps, the citizens of Yu Dao seemed surprisingly enthusiastic about keeping it as a mark of distinction. And the scar remained.

 

氣

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, so, another chapter of set-up, set-up, set-up, with a dash of resolution from the last book. We'll return to Yu Dao in Chapter 10 for a real story, with Toph, and catch up with Aang again in Ba Sing Se for an Iroh-centered tale.
> 
> Callbacks:  
> Book 4, Harmony, Ch. 10 "Calculation" ; Ch. 12 "Appropriation" ; Ch. 15 "Vigilante" ; Ch. 17 "Frustration" ; Ch. 21 through 24.


	8. HERO'S RETURN: Spoils of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Year 4, April.  
>  _** _**The Fire Nation Capital**_
> 
> _Azula is at large and Harbor City is in flames (Zuko has a bad week).  
>  Unexpected help turns up._
> 
> _(Zuko POV)_

 

火

 

The letter was hastily scrawled on Sanatorium stationery:

> “….regret our recommendation to you, in our sympathy for your sister’s state, and over-confidence in her rate of recovery, to authorize her healing retreat to the mountains. Believing her in safe hands, insufficient guard was assigned. The servants traveling with her have been found, slain, and the doctor who accompanied her has gone missing. We fear the worst for Dr. Nari, who believed she had earned the Princess’s trust, sufficient to warrant the expedition. The retreat was to be in undisturbed solitude, thus it was not until yesterday, two weeks post-departure, that we discovered the disappearance and investigated….”

Zuko crumpled the letter in his fist, and slammed it onto his dressing table.

 _How had this happened!?_ he demanded of himself for at least the tenth time since the message had arrived by hawk at noon. Azula should _never_ been permitted to leave without his express permission. He most certainly had _not_ authorized this, nor seen any such recommendation. Forgery. Of course. He thought of all the letters he’d sent her, words chosen carefully and defensively, never considering how she might use the brushstrokes themselves against him. 

Zuko had been meaning to visit his sister ever since Iroh’s departure, but kept putting it off, for one reason or another. She had seemed so spaced out and unnervingly helpless at his last visit, it hadn’t seemed urgent. He’d fixated instead on Ozai and the question of his mother, when he should have known better: Azula was the priority.

 _Azula always lies. Never underestimate Azula._

Zuko had sent an immediate order to suspend all staff at the Sanatorium, pending a critical— _very_ critical—performance review, the remaining patients to be sent away to other facilities. This was only to determine whether any of the staff were _not_ implicated in the deception and incompetence before he fired them _all._ Perhaps literally.

But the crisis remained. Azula must be _found_ , and quickly, before anything worse happened.

He was out of his robes, dressed in simple black for stealth and speed and nearly done packing his few essentials when Amanu showed up—not Afi, his valet, but his personal secretary, who rarely ventured into the royal living quarters of the Palace.

“I am sorry to intrude, Your Majesty.” Amanu’s words were routine, but he looked uncharacteristically alarmed, slightly breathless, his impassive mask shattered.

“What is it?” Zuko snapped, barely noticing. “I’m in a hurry.”

“Yes, I see that.” Amanu’s eyes darted anxiously towards the pack, cloak, and swords arranged on the bed. “Unfortunately, I must beg you to reconsider your plans.”

“I cannot reconsider. I have to stop my sister. The threat she poses trumps any other duty you could throw at me now.”

Amanu collected himself with his hands clasped behind his back and said firmly, “Harbor City is in flames, and a mob of rioters is headed for the Caldera.”

_“What?!”_

“General Mak awaits your orders, but if you wish to minimize bloodshed, I would not recommend delegating leadership to the military at this time. With all due respect, Your Majesty, I believe that the Fire Lord’s personal presence is urgently needed here in the Capital to restore peace and order.” 

“Scorching hairy balls of Agni!” He gesticulated wildly, ejecting two plumes of fire that collided in front of him with a small explosion. “Un-fucking-believable.”

 _“I beg your pardon?”_  

“How is this happening? Why _?_ _Why_ is this happening? What started it?”

“Apparently it all started with a more or less peaceful protest march this morning—‘restore the Fire Nation to glory,’ and so forth,” Amanu informed him with admirable, and perhaps pointed, composure. 

“What do they think we’re _trying_ to do up here?”

“I couldn’t say, Your Majesty. Coordinated Security Forces has requested an emergency consult with Knowledge Collection for a debrief. Perhaps you should attend? It convenes in ten minutes.”

Zuko growled inarticulately in a protest of his own as he tossed a silk robe over his plain black, jabbed the crown into his hair again, and stormed back to the business wing of the Palace, Amanu tight on his heels. 

He swept into the room without introduction. “Report.”

After a few chaotic minutes of overlapping reports and dire warnings, Zuko had the basic idea, painting a distinctly different picture than he had previously been offered on the state of affairs in his home city. It had all started that morning when residents of Harbor City’s lower neighborhoods—the poorest in the Capital—had taken to the streets to protest their living conditions, by all accounts a peaceful march.

Crime, substandard housing, crowding, low wages—if they had any wages at all: Zuko was familiar with the economic challenges—broadly, anyway—and believed that his government’s efforts to help through legislation and charity had begun to chip away at the problems. But now he was being told that these measures had not kept up with the steady influx of migrant workers from the provinces, where jobs were even scarcer.

Shantytowns had been springing up like mushrooms wherever they could, even on the waterfront—formerly austerely military spaces recently decommissioned.  Unsurprisingly, many of the underemployed newcomers were veterans, trained to fight and not much else. The city authorities were apparently well aware of the risk this posed to public order (“We did not wish to trouble Your Majesty with such tawdry matters,” demurred the Chief of Urban Compliance), and troublemakers were rounded up regularly for an overnight in the cooler. But aside from recruiting the occasional ditch-digging gang, no productive role for them had been found. Meanwhile, the population of war-toughened men and women who understood victory only in terms of violence filled the taverns and boarding houses of the lower neighborhoods, roiling in discontent.

Harbor City’s established communities—the longshoremen, the business owners, the fishermen, and the families they supported—were disrupted by the growing lawlessness. To get the city to act, they’d marched.  

But the disruptive element, the unemployed newcomers, had taken it personally, and their counterprotest devolved quickly from angry words to weapons and fire.

Spark rocks in the blasting jelly, by afternoon this neighborhood disturbance had erupted into a full-force riot. The resentful locals were the first targets for violence and vandalism, along with the police stations for good measure, but it didn’t take long for the xenophobia that smoldered beneath the surface to ignite and give the opposing factions a common enemy.

Attacks on inns and shops frequented by foreign traders spread to the foreign ships themselves—those that hadn’t fled at the first sign of trouble. A couple of large Earth Kingdom freighters had barricaded themselves and begun launching projectiles in counterattacks, which only energized the ex-soldiers, who flung themselves into the familiar milieu of battle. Other rioters took on the customs house, torching and looting.

The rioters pushed upwards through the city, taking what they wanted, leaving a swathe of blood and flames behind. Local citizens either fought back to defend their property or joined up, their own frustration stoked into fury.

All civilian security forces that could be mustered were now holding off the mob, bottlenecked at the road leading up the mountain to Caldera City, whose nearly impenetrable defenses they could not hope to breach, shouting for the Fire Lord. The military hung back uneasily above, awaiting orders to fire.

This was bad. This was very bad.

Zuko stood at the head of the conference table, hands planted on it to keep them steady, frowning ferociously, as he processed the reports. One by one, he demanded recommendations of the Coordinated Security Forces Chair, the Mayor of Harbor City, the Council of Nobles representative (a fairly useless body, but they could not be ignored), General Mak, Captain Ming of the Palace Peace Guard, and even the Head of Knowledge Collection (though she was not generally expected to engage proactively with current affairs). Most involved the use of force, though he was relieved that none recommended mowing the rioters down indiscriminately, as Ozai might have done. 

He cut off the discussion with a swift gesture and stared at his hands in heavy silence, weighing his options. 

Zuko straightened up. “Prepare my war rhino. I will address the protesters myself.” Though he did not know what he would say.

Half an hour later, he was standing on the Caldera Road, backed by security forces (not military), facing down a sea of faces possessed by a single rage. Their voices, ragged from hours of shouting, chanted in unison:

“Fire Nation first!” 

And underneath it, steady and driving, an ominous bass line: “Burn! Burn! Burn!”

It was terrifying. 

Zuko stepped out in front of his forces’ line of shields, still mounted on his rhino, and looked down upon the masses, heart pounding. He raised a hand to silence them. To his surprise, it worked. The yelling stopped, anyway. 

“This destruction must end,” he bellowed over the restless clanking of makeshift weapons and the crackling of burning brands. “We are a nation at peace. What is the meaning of this? Why have you come to my gates?”

The mob bristled and chafed, spitting out several discordant, incoherent explanations. “Your peace is a joke!” “The dirt-eaters are milking us dry!” “How can you abandon your soldiers?” “Purify the blood of fire!” “We are the Children of Agni!” “Bring back our glory!” He shifted his shoulders back, deepening his scowl, trying to make sense of them. It must have come off as stern; the scattered shouts fizzled out.

“Who can speak for you?”

Various individuals were shoved forward, amidst cries of encouragement and dissent (Zuko was relieved at their disorganization). It took a few minutes before some sort of consensus produced a middle-aged, balding man with the toughened posture of a lifelong soldier.

The old soldier fell to one knee, head bowed. He bore a scar across his weathered scalp, testament to his service and sacrifice.

“Rise, soldier, and tell me your name.”

“Your Majesty, I am Moru. Sergeant in the 12th Regiment of the Eastern Forces before honorable discharge under your father, Fire Lord Ozai.” 

“And what have you to say for these men and women, Corporal Moru? How do you justify your actions today?”

“Your Majesty, we—the people here today—“ he gestured broadly behind him “—have served the Fire Nation bravely, putting our lives on the line for the homeland. We have claimed new territory for your forefathers, built mud villages into cities, spread the glory the Fire Nation far and wide, with our own sweat and blood. Even the ones who stayed behind—they made sacrifices, too. They made the weapons, went hungry so we soldiers would have enough food on the frontlines. All of us have sent our children to their deaths.”

Zuko felt that all-too-familiar knife of guilt twist in his gut. 

“We here are the survivors, but we’ve all paid a price. We were proud of our scars, because we _understood_. We knew what our suffering was for. Our pain had _meaning.”_

He bowed, seemingly finished. “I understand, Corporal Moru, veterans and returnees,” Zuko said with gravity, though he did not fully understand. “And I deeply appreciate your loyalty, and what you have sacrificed for the Fire Nation.”

“Do you?” Moru set his jaw and leaned forward with a new intensity. “If that’s so, why are we hungry, with barely a roof over our heads? Why are colonists pouring into the city for work from every island, without two coins to rub together? Why are there crippled veterans begging on the streets? Why are the war widows selling rags to get by? What is _this_ suffering for?”

A rumble of assent moved through the mob, and it inched forward, backing up their spokesman.

“You say giving our land to the Earth Kingdom restores the balance,” Moru went on. “Then why can’t we stand on our own feet? You say the Fire Islands are enough for us. Then why can’t our brothers and sisters find homes, or jobs? You say we are a nation of peace now. Of peace and _poverty!_ While all of you Caldera nobles live as fine as ever! You say it is an era of love. Then why are we fighting _each other_ now just for what we need?”

The murmurs around him crescendoed, punctuated with harsh ejaculations of support. Feet and shoulders shifted into more aggressive stances. Zuko felt the security forces cinching themselves around him like armor. What should he say to break the tension, to convince the people he cared? Uncle would choose his words strategically. Aang would appease them. Katara would win their hearts. But today they were stuck with Zuko.

“People of Harbor City, hear my words,” he began. But his hesitation had been costly. Anger had caught at the people again, Moru’s speech raking at the still-hot embers, roaring back to life.

Someone hurled a bottle at the line of shields with a curse.

Out of the corner of his eye, Zuko saw one of his men draw back his arm to release a fire punch and he flashed back to a stone bridge over a river, a rampaging bear, and the earth split asunder.

“Hold fire!” he bellowed, flinging his arms out and releasing an inferno to either side, dividing the authorities and the civilians with a wall of fire. Both recoiled.

In the stunned silence that followed, Zuko dismounted and stepped forward into the open ground between the two opposing bodies, motioning his guards to stay behind.

“I hear you,” he said, looking Moru in the eye. “I hear that our policies have not been enough. I want to understand what we can do to help you adapt to the new Fire Nation, to the nation we must be now.” He was picking up momentum now; he’d found his way. “Because we cannot go back. Forward is the only way. As soldiers, you understand this. You understand what it means to charge into the unknown, fear in your hearts, but knowing that if that fear masters you, you have lost. And you understand, better than anyone, the importance of a united front. That’s what the Fire Nation needs right now. It’s what we’ve always needed—that hasn’t changed. What has changed is that we can use that power to _heal_ now, to rekindle our glory _from within,_ but only if we come together as one nation.”

That was all he had to say.

Tension hovered over the assembled as his words sank in. Then something let go, like a collective exhale. The temperature dropped—literally, as the firebenders stood down. Zuko found himself before a group of men and women, wearing expressions of relief, chagrin, frustration, exhaustion, hope—seeing in each other's faces something a little different, something to talk about. A mob no more. 

It was well into the small hours of the morning when Zuko was finally hauled off to his chambers by an exasperated Amanu, stumbling from exhaustion himself, meetings adjourned. To the roster of the afternoon debriefing had been added representatives of local guilds and mutual aid associations of Harbor City (those who could be summoned at such a late hour) and of course Moru, whose lack of any official status as a representative authority unsettled the professionals and required an extra half hour of heated discussion.

The outlines of a plan were hammered out to create a coalition committee bringing together representatives from the Capital City Bureaus of Urban Compliance, Health and Education, and Labor, with the Veterans’ Division of the Fire Nation Army and the Colonist Repatriation Office in order to coordinate their efforts and improve the lives of all Harbor City residents, _including_ the new ones. And, at Moru’s insistence, a citizen’s advisory council would be formed to suggest and review policies to the committee. This controversial idea alone was debated for well over an hour—how could anyone trust that these advisers genuinely represented the views of the people, and weren’t simply sycophants and climbers? Once again, it was Zuko who had to suggest democratic elections. 

Except for a short ride down the mountain on a rhino and one burst of firebending, Zuko had spent virtually the entire day in meetings and negotiations. His last thought as he sank into oblivion spread-eagled face-down on top of his satin coverlet was to wonder how just _talking_ could possibly be this exhausting.

 

.............

 

It didn’t get much easier, though. Community leaders dreamed up convoluted plans and conflicting proposals, bureaucrats dissected them and itemized their faults and violations, politicians tried to twist them to their own advantage, and the nobility had… _opinions_ , the relevance of which Zuko could not fathom. And there he was, trying to sign off on everything, to move things forward, but instead mired in the middle hearing everyone’s case and being asked to pass judgment on every controversy, item by item.

This was not how it was supposed to work. The Fire Lord should stand above it all, set the agenda, and order everyone _else_ to make it work. How had he fucked this up so badly? 

He gritted his teeth and tried not to singe the paperwork. His city _would_ have a plan and there would be _peace._

But by the end of the week, his head was spinning with too many versions of the same story and he hardly knew which way was up. He had to get out, on his own. He had to _not be_ the Fire Lord.

Taut as a drawn crossbow with all that tension, Zuko slipped into all-black once more, flung on a coarse-woven, hooded cloak, and snuck out. He was not going after Azula—not yet—but to Harbor City, to eavesdrop. He’d been a fool to rely solely on the eyes and ears of others.

The last glimmer of dusk hung over the western horizon, the rim of the Caldera barely visible against the night sky. He looked down from his rooftop perch. It was pure night in the lanes and alleyways below, lit only by flickering streetlamps and drifting clouds of fireflies. Although it was not late, with the Fire Lord’s curfew in effect, few people were out, and those that were moved with purpose, to get to their destinations before the hour was enforced. 

Zuko crept along the crests of the roofs, his footfalls silent on the roof tiles. First to Armory Square, then a diagonal leap across Naywain Road into the Spice District, up and down a series of staggered rooftops, a climb to the top of a spreading banyan tree whose branches reached across the broad Sozin’s Way, and on the other side, a drop down into the semi-drunken crowds along the Quay. That was his usual route, anyway, established years ago, mainly just as an escape from anxiety that kept him sleepless under his father’s roof (and so the Blue Spirit was born). Once he became Fire Lord, he’d taken it up again, to be surrounded by the raucous warmth of other humans, to be no one in particular. But it had been a couple of years since he’d tried it. He simply hadn’t had the time.

Tonight, he did not get far before the burnt-out shell of a house, victim to the riots, interrupted his path. Looking ahead, he saw several more gaps where rooftops had been—more than he’d noticed gazing down from the Caldera—and was forced to drop to street level much earlier than usual.

A hunched figure dug with bare hands through the ashes and debris of the ruined house. When it—she?—caught sight of Zuko’s silent silhouette, she shuffled off quickly, clutching something to her chest. Tenant or thief?

Zuko continued through Harbor City, keeping to the shadows and alleys, alert to everything around him.

A middle aged woman hustled past him with a large basket on her back—a vegetable seller returning home. Her eyes darted nervously left and right (perhaps she sensed him watching) until a door opened at her approach and cheerful lamplight poured out into the lane. “Mama! You’re home!” She embraced her daughter and slipped inside to join the chatter and laughter.

The Quay, when Zuko finally made his pedestrian way there, was conspicuously silent. Zuko found his own curfew disconcerting, somehow more sinister than the strip’s usual lawlessness, as if something truly evil could now emerge from the shadows unchallenged. He suppressed a shiver and looked to the taverns that dotted the waterfront; most of them showed signs of life behind shuttered windows.

He tugged his hood over his face and chose one he knew, The Wombat-Crab. A few wary eyes glanced up at his entrance, so close to curfew, a sinister figure in black. But not the sketchiest character there, not by far. He scanned the room to gauge its climate. Normal drinking and carousing, a bit more subdued than usual, despite the denser pack of patrons indoors. He caught no politics in the banter and insults. In one corner, four guys hunched over a table looking decidedly conspiratorial, but upon sidling closer, he realized they were just engaged in a game of pai sho. And by the pattern of their moves, they could even be low-ranking White Lotus. He watched them surreptitiously, leaning on a nearby post.

Someone poked him in the ribs sharply. “You owe me money.”

He froze, but didn’t turn. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Huh-uh.” It was a low, sultry voice, female. And it rang a bell. “I’d never forget a face that pouty.”

He whirled around and met one, black-lashed eye of a tattooed bounty hunter. The other one was concealed by a curtain of silky black hair, and except for a knife scar on her cheek and new wariness in her bearing, she was exactly as he remembered her from four years earlier. She grasped her coiled whip at her hip—it was the handle she’d jabbed him with. 

“Joon.”

“Slumming it? Fire Lo—”

Zuko grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her soundly. It was all he could think of in that split second to shut her up. Violence would draw too much attention. He instantly regretted it, feeling the smirk twist on her whiskey-flavored lips as they parted for him. She pulled back, but not before slipping him some tongue, tasting of stale tobacco.

“Well, well. Living out your grandpa’s fantasy’s for him?”

 _“No!_ I mean yes. I mean, it’s not _my_ fantasy. And he’s my _uncle!_ Look, I’m really sorry about that. Just— _I’m ‘Li’ here, ok?”_ He finished his idiotic excuses on an urgent hiss. What the hell had he been thinking? And yet, some depraved and starving part of him wanted more.

“What ever you say, Fi….” She trailed off expectantly. He wasn’t going to bite. “Fine. As I was saying, _Li._ ”

“Let me buy you a drink.”

“What a gentleman. That part usually comes first.”

They sat together at the end of the bar.

“How’s your girlfriend?”

“Mai and I broke up.”

“Who’s Mai?”

“Who did you mean?”

She just rolled her eyes and tossed back her shot. “No wonder.”

“Look, I tried to find you.”

“Love will find a way.”

“Will you shut up? I pay my debts, but you made yourself scarce after the war and you know it.”

“I’m still scarce,” she agreed with a toss of her hair. “But since I’m in town, I _was_ planning on smoking you out.” 

“Lucky for you, you won’t have to. My uncle promised you his weight in gold for the mission with the necklace, 200 pounds, we agreed—”

“I charge hazard pay. Add on 10% for the perfume business. Nyla wasn’t herself for days.”

“Fine, 220,” he growled.

“And then there was finding your uncle.”

“That was pro bono. We were _saving the world!”_

“Pro bono was for the Avatar, not your uncle.”

“You couldn’t even find the Avatar!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He was in the Spirit World. Even Nyla has limits.”

“It was a lion turtle!”

“What?"

“Never mind. The hunt for my uncle was an extension of the Avatar job, and you didn’t say anything about an additional fee. Consider _world peace_ your reward.”

“Yeah, my life’s been just _peachy_ since then.”

“You're a hell of a lot better off than as a blackened cinder ground into dust by the heel of a Fire Nation soldier. Ozai's holocaust was not going to discriminate between the enemy and…whatever you were.”

“All right.” She slid her glass across the counter with a wink at the bartender and turned back to him with a grudging curl of her lip. “I’ll take the 220—plus interest.”

“Seriously? I made a good-faith effort to find you after the war. _You_ disappeared.” 

“What difference does that make? You should have paid me on the spot.”

“We _did!”_

“That was a deposit. You never paid the balance.”

“My ship exploded!”

“Current interest rates set by the National Treasury are at 5.6%, right? So, compounded over four years….” She scratched a few figures into the grime on the bar. “….That would be…273 pounds…and a half—I’ll round it down. Coins or bullion only. Your currency’s not holding its value.”

“And would you like that delivered?” he mocked her. “To your tavern pallet upstairs?”

“Please.” She leveled him with a look of disdain. “Have it delivered to Harto Bank and Trust.”

 _“You_ have a Fire Nation bank account,” Zuko said incredulously. Those were hard to get, not a Harbor-City-level perk.

“Don’t underestimate me, _Li._ Here’s the account number.” She grabbed his hand scribbled a series of digits on the inside of his arm, sending an unwelcome shiver along his skin. “I’ll be in touch.” She stood to go, leather squeaking.

“Wait.” The word popped out before he was fully aware of the thought that precipitated it.

“So you _are_ interested.” She twisted back provocatively, her curvy ass aimed right at him.

He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “I have another job for you.”

“I’m not available.”

 _“Special favor._ This is a big one.” He gave her his most authoritative Fire Lord glare from under the shadow of his hood, committed now.

Joon studied him, uncowed. But whatever she read on his face got her to sit back down. She waited.

He checked the room again for eavesdroppers and dropped his voice. “My sister. Azula has escaped the Sanatorium. No one knows where she’s gone, or why. She’s dangerous and she’s not sane.”

Joon narrowed her eyes (or eye—did she even have another one?). “And what do I do if I find her?” 

“Just report back. I’ll go myself. With backup if necessary. But it has to be accurate—she moves fast and she’s a strategic genius. Don’t engage.”

“Get me another drink.” Joon considered the job silently while he hailed the bartender for two more drinks. “Full payment of debts owed, by tomorrow. Double that fee for the princess, half upfront. Plus—” she leaned in close, her forearm resting between them on the bar and her face so close he could smell her tavern-smoked breath again “— _full amnesty._ There’s a reason I’m laying low.”

The Treasurer would have an aneurism. Not to mention the High Magistrate. “Fine.” He held up his glass and they drank to the deal. “But no future immunity. Behave yourself.”

“One more thing,” he added quietly as her leather began to squeak again. “I’m also looking for my mother, Princess Ursa. My father banished her ten years ago and I’ve found nothing. Any information as to her whereabouts, or what happened to her—I’ll give you a bonus.”

She paused and something new flickered across her face. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was compassion. “That’s a cold trail. If she’s dead, Nyla might not find her.”

“But there’s a chance?”

A curt nod. “Send along something personal, with a scent. For both of them.” 

And she was gone, leaving only a slowly spinning barstool.

 

火

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I have now posted a [glossary/index of original proper names](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314068) in the Orbits series, for the enthusiastic, confused, and/or pedantic reader. 
> 
> The next chapter, on Kyoshi Island, has a ways to go, though I'll probably keep it minimalist and vignettey. And the one after...maybe I've bit off more than I can chew. Plus, life-life-life...it might be a little while. Sorry! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and commenting! Love you guys!


	9. HERO'S RETURN: Kyoshi Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Year 4, May through July (Winter).  
>  _** _**Kyoshi Island**_
> 
> _Suki and Sokka unearth the secrets of Kyoshi Island._
> 
> _Suki POV; Sokka POV_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is looong....

扇

_May_

 

The last of the maple leaves clung to their branches, delicate paper flames against the dull, grey sky. Suki caught one fluttering to the ground, surprisingly cold to the touch. A snowflake landed on the leaf, unmelting, an impossibly complex crown of branching crystals. She looked up for more, but it could hardly be called a snowfall. Minute specks of white materialized against the ceiling of grey and hovered uncertainly before vanishing into her skin or the earth before her.

Suki sat on the shoulder of the hill, looking over the steeply gabled rooftops over her village far below on one side, and out to sea on the other, where the grey waters met the grey sky at a horizon she had to assume was there. Kyoshi Island was as untouched by peace as it had been by war; nothing ever changed here. Even the damage Zuko had done to her village years ago was undetectable, each house restored to its original appearance, the statue of Avatar Kyoshi mended and repainted. Everything—the trees, the tumbled rocks, the sound of the sea, the smell of the earth, and the sky itself—was as familiar as the lines on her own palm.

An ache of loss tugged somewhere deep inside of her, and she didn’t know why. She was home now, after all, and it was beautiful.

Sokka and Suki had sailed into port a month ago. At the first site of the Candra, children wrapped in winter blue and white had flocked to the shore, shouting and pointing. In the time it took them to rowto shore, entrusting Sokka’s ship to his small crew for the season, a full contingent had gathered to welcome them. ~~~~

Her warriors reached Suki first, enveloped her in an embrace of leather and steel. It felt like stepping back into her own body. When they parted, village headman Oyaji stepped forward to clasp her hand in both of his, eyes moist with a wordless welcome. He then stepped aside, inclining his body respectfully, for a tall, severe woman of advancing years but the carriage of a warrior, Governor Eita.

“Welcome home, Suki. And Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe, welcome to our Kyoshi Island.” Eita’s face softened into a smile, pushing aside the worry lines that grooved her face. “I’m sure it will seem small to you after all your worldly adventures.”

“Thank you, Governor.” Suki bowed respectfully. She had never been close to the Island’s aloof leader, who spent much of her time in the other villages.

“I hope you will come see me often. I would like to hear more of your travels, and news of our allies in other nations.”

“We would love to!” Sokka replied. Of course, Eita had been speaking to them both, but only then did she make eye contact with him. “I bring a proposal for you from the Southern Water Tribe.”

 _Too soon, Sokka,_ Suki tried to warn him silently.

“We keep to ourselves, here on Kyoshi,” Eita continued, turning back to Suki almost as if Sokka hadn’t spoken. “Yet we do not prize ignorance. Please share your tales of outside world with your neighbors. Knowledge is our strength.”

Since their arrival, Suki had indeed begun having tea with Eita regularly, but hadn’t actually seen as much of Sokka as she would have liked. Kyoshi Island life was very gender-segregated: unmarried men bunked together in the bachelor’s longhouse, unmarried women stayed with their parents, and the Kyoshi Warriors, of course, had each other. Once a day or so, Suki checked in with her fiancé. They sat together in the communal dining hall, and sometimes managed to escape on their own for a walk or a little more. Some days, all they could get in was a “how was your day?” and a quick smooch behind a bush.

Sokka was doing all right, though. He’d made friends among the young men and did a lot of hunting and fishing. He didn’t do much in the fields, of course (no farming in the Water Tribes), but there wasn’t much left to do this late in the season. He made a good impression on Ukoyki when his roof collapsed after the first heavy snowfall—fixing it up with special, Sokka-style improvements, of course. Ukoyki’s judgment was well respected, so that had worked out well.

Meanwhile, Suki had quickly fallen back into the familiar rhythm of training and teaching with the other warriors—the routine she had lived every day of her childhood until she and her warriors left to join the war effort.

And yet of course it was not really the same.

She was honored as a master, and rightfully so. Already the senior and most skilled at sixteen, the transnational field experience she’d gained over the past five years was unmatched by any Kyoshi Warrior since before the Island had closed its harbors decades ago. Even among the sisters who had gone with her to war, she was exceptional: the only one who escaped prison to fight, and the last to leave the service of the Fire Lord.

Above all, Suki was personal friends with the Avatar.

She acknowledged all of this and was proud of her accomplishments. But they also set her apart from the others—far apart. Perhaps that was inevitable anyway, since she would be breaking with the Order by marrying Sokka. Yet she didn’t want to _leave_ her sisters and still hoped to find a role among them, some way to belong. At the very least, she could teach.

“Warriors,” She barked at the dozen girls assembled in the training hall. These were not strictly “warriors” yet, not fully initiated—but as advanced trainees, they should be thinking of themselves that way. Twenty-four socked feet fell to the pinewood floor in unison with a soft thud, signaling the end of the spar. Excellent. “Last drill. Qi-block moves for the following: earthbenders, waterbenders, firebenders, airbenders, in that order. Don’t forget, extra force to the legs for the firebenders.

“One!” Jab, punch, jab—no contact made, of course, as she didn’t want all her girls in a heap on the floor at the end of the session. “Two!” Poke-poke-poke, jab, jab. “Three!” Slice to the left, to the right, jab to each shoulder blade. “Four!” Thumbs, pinch, punch.

In unison, they turned stood and bowed to each other, then to her.

“Good job today. You have worked hard. Any questions?”

A stocky girl with wide-set, eager eyes, stepped forward.

“Yes, Koko?”

“Master Suki, why do we practice techniques for airbenders?”

“Because there _are_ such techniques. And there are still airbenders. Well, at least one airbender.”

A collective gasp, muffled, rose up.

“But Master Suki, he is the Avatar!”

“In theory, he could still be in the wrong.” Faces paled, aghast. _Foot in mouth, Suki._ “But only in theory—I don’t expect to ever have reason to fight Aang. He _is_ the Avatar. Still, there could be more airbenders in the future. The knowledge must be passed down.”

“That is something you learned in the Fire Nation?”

“It is.”

The discomfort in the room was palpable. Suki had forgotten how the story of the Air Nomad Genocide was told at home—not _that_ it was told (she could have recited it verbatim), but what the Islanders held to be its most unforgivable horror, its unthinkable transgression: that the target had been the Avatar himself.

And she’d casually tossed off a reference to both the peaceful Air Nomads _and_ the Avatar as legitimate combatants.

“I think we’re done for today, warriors. Drills with Master Chuugi after lunch.”

Once they were gone, she slumped down on the back porch steps, elbows on her knees, staring out into the pine forest.

“Hey—you coming to lunch?”

“Yeah, Chuugi, just give me a moment.”

“You look upset.”

“Not really. I think I upset the girls, though. I forget, sometimes.”

“Well, it’s easy to do.” Chuugi sat down next to her and gave her a sidelong glance. “What, specifically?”

“Religion.”

“Huh?” She understood Chuugi’s confusion. No god was worshipped on Kyoshi—they prided themselves in not idolizing deities and spirits, not imagining that they intervened in human life, as the firebenders did with Agni. Spirits had their own problems to deal with.

“I mean, the Avatar. He’s like our religion, you know?”

“He’s not a god….”

“No, but he’s sacred. Our link to something eternal. The people of Kyoshi do not take him lightly.”

“Of course not!”

“I think I’ve absorbed too much of the Fire Nation mindset. Thinking of Aang as just another super-powered warrior.”

“But you _know_ him. You know he’s wise and kind and hates to fight!”

“That’s just it! To me, Aang’s a kid. An extraordinary one, but more like my little brother than a—a spiritual figure. Now that I know him.”

Suki recalled the reverence she’d felt, and the sense of honor, at the ritual offering to the Avatar Spirit each Solstice, a rehearsal of the devotion they would offer when the Avatar returned in human form. And then he did. And so the other Warriors scarcely hesitated to follow Suki’s lead and join the Earth Kingdom war effort, no matter Governor Eita’s objections. They did not question that the Avatar’s mission should be theirs.

“I feel like I’ve lost something, Chuugi.”

Her friend reached over and took her hand with a warm squeeze. “You haven’t lost _us.”_

Suki nodded gratefully. “That’s the most important thing.”

That night, Suki curled up in Chuugi’s bed. Tama found somewhere else to sleep. She was sorry to displace her, and said so with a tacit nod, but Chuugi held out her hand, offering the comfort Suki needed.

It was just like the old days, lying in her comrade’s arms, stroking Chuugi’s hair where her head rested on Suki’s shoulder.

“I missed you,” Chuugi murmured.

“Yes, always.” She pressed a kiss to her best friend’s forehead. Warriors didn’t have “best friends”; they had sisters, a collective bound together by vows and by blood. But Chuugi was the first friend she could remember, had been her second-in-command almost until the end, the last to leave the Fire Nation before Suki.

Chuugi began to caress Suki, running her hands up and down her bare skin beneath her tunic. “You’ve let yourself go soft,” she teased her, testing her glutes with an affectionate squeeze.

“Speak for yourself!” Suki pinched her playfully in return.

“I’ve been training six hours a day, six days a week, same as always.”

“Well, I’ve been…hauling a lot of dried fish,” she admitted with a rueful giggle. Training like that hadn’t been remotely possible in Kotan Village.

“Soft is nice, too.” Chuugi tightened her arms around Suki and scooted up to give her a kiss on the lips.

Suki sighed into the kiss, happy to be home at last. Their lips moved languidly, soft tongues exploring, enjoying the taste of each other, before Chuugi’s hand crept downward to lift the hem of Suki’s tunic.

Suki broke the kiss and Chuugi froze.

“Is it different now?”

Was it? She’d told Sokka about this, and he hadn’t freaked. Well, he hadn’t called it cheating, anyway; he’d accepted the way she’d shrugged it off (apparently). Because it wasn’t cheating. It was another category of thing altogether.

“No. It’s always the same with you. We’re just helping each other out.”

“Yeah.” Chuugi gave her another sweet kiss.

“And I _would_ like your help.”

Chuugi’s smile interrupted her next kiss. “All right, then.” And she slipped her fingers between Suki’s legs, stroking gently in time with kisses, bringing her all the way home.

 

扇

* * *

計

_June_

 

“Aaaaaah.”

The heat pressed him back against the smooth pine walls like a thing of power. A lazy, heavy, paralyzing thing of power. A drowsy, toothless panda-panther that draped its weight him and refused to get up, ever. Sweat prickled in his pores like tiny needles of relief.

“So you like our sauna, then?” Sokka heard the grin in Chuunaru’s voice somewhere over to his left.

“Is that what you call this?” At least, that’s what he meant to say, but he wasn’t sure his lips actually moved. It might have been more like: “Izza ahyaaaaih?”

Chuunaru gave a lazy chuckle. After a few minutes, Heiki stirred himself and tossed some more water on the rocks in the center and steam filled the room with a startling “hiss.” Sokka didn’t know how long his heat stupor had lasted, when Chuugi elbowed him.

“Ok, it’s time.”

“No iss not.”

“Come on. Can’t have the yin without the yang.”

“What? What yang?” Sokka’s eyes popped open, just in time for his feet to find the floor as Chuunaru pushed him out of the room, right into the snow.

His scream was not like a girl’s. Because girls rarely have that much grit in their voices. And he got a rich, _male_ resonance into it, too. Barrel-chested, even.

At first, he thought this was some kind of Kyoshi hazing for the new guy, until he saw that Chuunaru and Heiki were rolling around in the snow, too, completely nude like him, and letting loose with manly shrieks of their own.

“Are you two _insane?”_

“Don’t you do this in the Water Tribes?”

 _“Suicide?_ Not without profoundly tragic reasons!”

The other two guys hooted with laughter, then starting pelting him with snowballs! He was not going down like that and returned fire.

“Look alive, Sokka!” Heiki got him from behind, right under the ear. With a roar, Sokka dove at them both, take one down with each arm and then grinding snow onto their faces before they could recover. “Mercy! We’ve done it!”

Red-skinned and dripping with melted snow, his outside shivering and his inside pumping with hot blood, Sokka had to admit he’d never felt more alive. And then, for some reason, they all went back inside to bake in the sauna again.

“What the hell was that?”

“How can you not do this in the Water Tribes? Aren’t you a winter people?” Chuunaru settled back down on the towel he’d draped over the bench, pushing damp strands of hair out of his face.

“No kidding.” Heiki dumped a snowball onto the rocks, steaming up the room so fully—what with the water already coming off of their bodies—that Sokka could only dimly make out the shape of the guy’s shoulders just a few feet away. “I’d love to have a waterbender in here. Think what they could do.”

“Huh.” Sokka imagined Iri or Anik splashing the rocks with a flick of his fingers without getting up. There was probably some more dramatic potential there, but his brain wouldn’t work. “Nope, we do not do this. You would literally die—heart attack from the shock, full-body frostbite. In the winter, anyway. Might be nice in the summer, but the snow’s pretty old and gross…. Or maybe an all-indoor sauna for winter, with a tunnel connecting it to a cooler room….” The gears in Sokka’s mind engaged and began to turn until the oppressive heat ground them to a halt, and his brain puddled again.

“That’s funny.” Chuunaru mumbled beside him. “We’d thought we learned this from the Southern Water Tribe.”

Later that evening, loose-limbed, but revitalized, they joined the other bachelors for a meal of wild game roasted over the cook-fire in their longhouse. There probably should have been some rice, too, but no one could be bothered. Afterwards, Oyaji’s son Ukoyki came over with a bottle of apple brandy.

“It’s not bad, this longhouse life,” Sokka said, taking a swig from the bottle and passing it to Chuunaru.

“To the men of Kyoshi Island!” Chuunaru lifted the bottle high.

“Hear, hear!” the men responded.

“Bachelorhood forever!” Keigo added, taking the bottle next.

“Hear, hear!”

“Or at least till spring, for Sokka!” Chuunaru clapped him on the back.

“There are compensations,” Ukoyki winked.

“Tell us more of these compensations. We live in such innocence here.” Chuunaru leaned in lasciviously. “What do _you_ know, Sokka?”

“I shall not dishonor my lady so!” Sokka drew himself up stiffly with his nose in the air.

“Lest she part you from the family jewels?”

“Which she could do before I took my next breath. You breed some fearsome women here.”

“To the women of Kyoshi Island!” Ukoyki raised the bottle.

“Hear, hear!”

“May they always defend us!” Antei cried.

“But also hand over the reins one of these days,” Keigo added.

“I thought Kyoshi was always ruled by women.”

“What? No way!”

“The sexes are equal, Sokka.” Heiki explained, almost apologetically, like he was somehow at fault for their guest’s ignorance. “They’re supposed to alternate.”

“It’s in the Avatar’s teachings, isn’t it?” said Chuunaru. “Balance, harmony, the yin and the yang. If one side always has the power, we’ll spin out of balance.”

“Men are supposed to look outward,” Heiki went on. “We hunt, fish, trade, travel. When the men govern the Island, we…we represent it to the world. We reach out and, you know, talk to other nations. Peacefully. There’s a word for that…?”

“Do you mean…diplomacy?” These guys _really_ did not get out much.

“Yeah, diplomacy. But throughout the war, our priority was on keeping our home safe. So we looked to the women to protect us. Women look inward.”

“So you’ve had a female governor, for, like, a hundred years?”

“Eita’s been in office only about fifteen years, but she’s our third female governor in a row.”

“So she won’t talk to me about the trade agreement because she’s a protectionist. Because she’s supposed to be one, as a woman.”

“Trade agreement?” Keigo leaned in with interest. “I haven’t heard about this.”

“Your ships already trade with us,” Chuunaru pointed out.

“Yeah, sealskins for timber. This is bigger. We’re proposing to make Kyoshi Harbor a trading port for goods from all the nations—a hub.”

“That’s going to be a hard sell.” Ukoyki frowned thoughtfully. “It would make us vulnerable to outsiders. Draw attention. Eita and her supporters would never go for it.”

“But that’s where we come in—the Southern Water Tribe would provide naval protection, managing the trade routes, keeping pirates out. In addition to doing most of the runs, at least in the beginning.”

“For a share of the profits.”

“Of course.”

“Sounds like a _very_ good deal for _you.”_ Chuunaru’s eyes narrowed shrewdly.

“It’s _mutually beneficial._ We’d work it out to be. We’re friends!”

Heiki’s eyes darted anxiously between Chuunaru and Sokka. “Of course we are, Sokka. All history aside, there’s no reason our generation can’t work together. Somehow.”

“What history?”

“You don’t know?” Chuunaru shared a bemused glance with the others.

“Know what?”

“About the Kyoshi Warriors and the Southern Water Tribe. How they all died.”

“What are you talking about?!” Had Suki kept something major from him _again_ _?_ Sokka had asked Suki before, of course, why she already had been the senior warrior at sixteen. The first time, she’d just answered, “The war, of course, what else?” Which was enough, in those days. Later on, in quieter times, she’d told him how the Kyoshi Warriors had left the Island to fight the year before she was born, but only Master Ogi had returned alive. Ogi was so grief-stricken that it had taken her more than five years before she found the heart to start training the next generation of Warriors, starting with little Suki. Looked like there was a little more to the story than that.

“Ok, ok, we’ll tell you,” Heiki mollified him. Sokka figured he must look kind of freaked out. “If anyone should know this story, it’s you. That campaign where all of our warriors perished? It to help the Southern Water Tribe, to answer a cry for help. What was the name of the village…?”

“Upas,” Ukoyki offered.

“Have you heard of it?" Antei asked?

Sokka shook his head.

Antei frowned in disappointment. "I thought your tribe might remember the sacrifice, at least, in song or story."

“It was an island off the coast of the South Pole,” Ukoyki explained. “As I understand it, Upas was an important source of timber and crops for your people, with a warmer climate than the continent. Upas was a lot like Kyoshi Island, actually—the south and colder, and Water Tribe, but a similar way of life. We saw them as cousins and before the war, and there was a lot of back and forth between the two islands: trade, marriages, customs.

“But when Kyoshi Island isolated itself from the war, and the Fire Nation went after the Southern Water Tribe, travel became difficult and we fell out of contact. Things got desperate for your people. They had lost all their waterbenders, and each time a waterbending child was born, the Fire Nation would strike and take the child.”

Sokka nodded, with a hard swallow. Didn’t he know it.

“Upas had such a child and got wind of a raid headed their way. They sent a messenger to beg the Kyoshi Warriors to help them. Our people were divided over whether or not to help. The Warriors themselves were divided. We had sworn neutrality in the war and portrayed ourselves as worthless and meek to avoid attracting attention. We even drew the Unagi into the harbor to keep the visitors away.”

“We didn’t count on anyone as curious as Aang!” Chuunaru laughed at the memory. “But of course, he was the one guest who _was_ welcome, above all others. And Avatar Aang was why you and your sister were accepted, too. But anyone else would have been repelled.”

“Or just eaten by the Unagi,” Sokka volunteered.

“It happened,” Ukoyki admitted with a shrug. “On the other hand, our bonds with Upas—even shared blood—went back farther than our retreat from the world. Everyone argued for days over the Southern Water Tribe’s plea, even though the raid might come at any moment. The Water Tribe messenger was beside himself, not knowing if he still had a home to save. In desperation, he climbed the peak to the Avatar’s Shrine and offered something precious, something known only to him. A flash of blue was seen from this village and it was taken as a sign by the Warriors that the Avatar Spirit wished them to help our cousins.

“And so they went. But the Fire Nation raiders were already on their way and intercepted the Kyoshi Warriors at sea. They fought courageously, but were at a disadvantage on a small, Water Tribe sailing ship against an iron steamer armed for war. They were not trained for naval combat. All but Master Ogi fell. She was taken prisoner and witnessed the destruction of Upas before she escaped and eventually made her way home.”

It was even worse than he’d thought. Like basically every story from the war, there was always another layer of tragedy Sokka, the pessimist with the wild imagination, had not fathomed.

“So you see…” Keigo was watching his reaction. “Kyoshi Island isn’t over-eager to offer favors to the Southern Water Tribe.”

“Yeah,” Sokka sighed heavily. “I get that.”

“But I agree with Heiki,” Ukoyki said in a surprisingly upbeat tone. “We can move forward now. The war is over, everything is different. It’s time for a change.”

“So you’re supporting someone new for governor? A man?”

The others exchanged a can-we-trust-the-new-guy look. And the consensus was apparently “no.”

“As you keep saying: the world has changed” was Keigo’s non-answer.

Chuunaru grinned and raised the bottle again. “Such heavy talk for a drinking night. How about another tale of that wolf-hero of yours?”

Well, there would be plenty more opportunities to pick their brains and get the edge on Eita. “Right! Did I tell you about the time Amarok discovered a portal into the Spirit World? That’s a classic.”

 

計

* * *

扇 

_June_

 

“I think you downplayed how bad Kyoshi would be,” Sokka mumbled, his mouth busy at her neck embracing her from behind. They had just ducked into a gardening shed. Always with the storage places. "This is at least as frustrating as my village." 

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t realize.” She enjoyed the tingle his lips were giving her.

“I mean, this is some extreme separation here. How do you people even _court_ each other?”

“Oh, in the fields, in the market, lots of work is done together.”

“Unless you’re a warrior.” He’d stopped kissing her. 

“Uh, yeah. What you were doing…that was good.” She tilted her head for a better angle.

Instead he leaned down and rested his chin on her shoulder with a sigh. “Did you, like, even know any guys when you lived here?”

“Sure, I knew guys!” She twisted to look back at him. “Not like I know _you._ Not like I _hung out_ with any guys…. No, I guess I really didn’t know any guys. I had my girls.” 

“Thought so.” He nipped her ear playfully. “So when you kissed me, that first time—that was pretty gutsy.”

She squirmed a little. “The heat of battle…I figured I’d never see you again, so what the hell. You were pretty damn cute.” She could feel his grin against her cheek. She twisted to look him in the eye. "And you earned my respect. You admitted when you were wrong and you changed."

“I'm not wrong now. I've never felt more right. And I’m going to build you a house.”  
  
“You are?” 

“What do you think about Oyaji’s plot up the hill?” 

“It’s not farmable….” 

“We’re not going to farm. And he’s willing to lease it to me, long-term. My crew is bringing in a good haul this winter.”

“Good money for not doing a lick of work, _captain,”_ she teased.

“Hey, it’s my ship! I get a cut, fair and square. Even if I am just mooning about the island all winter hoping to get lucky.” And he dived for the hollow of her neck again.

She swallowed a gasp. It _would_ be really nice to have a house of their own. _With a bed._ He groaned, frustration and desire rumbling through his chest, and she shivered.

“Suki, I’m seriously about to explode.”

She pressed back against him and verified that this was true. “The wedding’s only three months away. Then you’ll have more luck than you can handle. You'll make it.”

“Not soon enough.” He spun her around and they got to work freeing each other from their winter clothes, his fingers frantic. Suddenly he stopped, eyes narrowed. “What about you _,_ Suki? How are _you_  getting by?”

Uh-oh. She wasn’t as desperate and he could tell. Not like she was trying to hide anything. It just wasn’t exactly…balanced. She didn’t want him to feel left out. Even though he was definitely left out. 

“You’re getting some from the other girls.” He stepped back and leveled a finger at her accusingly.

“I, uh. Just Chuugi?” She squinched her shoulders up with what she hoped was an endearing smile.

“That’s—that’s cheating!” 

“No it’s not! It’s completely different. She’s not your _competition.”_

“But it’s _only_ Chuugi?”

“Hey, we’re just helping each other out, not hosting orgies.”

“I wasn’t…I didn’t think…!” He was adorable when he was flustered. “Then it _is_ something! She’s your best friend. You love her, don’t you?” 

“Of course, but….”

“Suki…!” He released her and flailed his arms in frustration. “So, what, I should just go fuck Chuunaru? Or maybe _Aang,_ since I love him??”

“Uh, if you want to…?” The idea did not sit well. Men doing it together—she knew it happened, but it had nothing to with her. Imagining Sokka with Chuugi’s brother, dicks out…too weird. Sokka was _hers_.

Oh.

She flopped down on an overturned bucket, staring at his feet. “I see your point,” she mumbled.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear you there.” 

She lifted her eyes to his. “Ok, I get it. What I’ve been up to with Chuugi isn’t what you and I do, it isn’t even related. But from your perspective, she’s where you want to be.”

“Bingo.” He folded his arms in front of his chest. “Didn’t we have this same conversation a few months ago?” 

“Yeah, and you didn’t have a problem with it!” His jaw dropped. “I mean, you didn’t _object.”_

“I was _not ok_ with it! I was—there were a lot of things going on in my head right then, ok? Maybe I wasn’t super articulate. But I did _not_ say, go off and finger your BFF, with my blessing!”

“Well, I apologized, ok? Can we let it go?”

“When did you apologize? Are _you_ going to let _her_ go?” 

She opened her mouth to defend her friendship again, and her Warrior ways, then stopped. Wasn’t she going to have to? Yes. She snapped her mouth shut and exhaled steadily as she stood to face him on equal footing. “If that’s what you need me to do.”

“Well, I do. That’s the deal, if we’re really getting married.”

“Ok then.” She had an urge to stick out her hand to shake on it. She didn’t have much of an urge to kiss him. 

He dropped his arms to his sides and his face softened utterly. “Thank you, Suki.” He gazed at her with such adoration that it put kissing him right back on the table.

“Come here, Wolf-man.” She grabbed the collar of his tunic and yanked him over. “Let’s see what we can do about that explosion.”

 

扇

* * *

計

_July_

“Only a Water Tribesman would plan a mountain picnic in the dead of winter.” Suki navigated a stretch of small boulders that had fallen across the path, now slick with ice—successfully, but without her usual grace. Sokka offered her a hand from the other side. He’d gotten across faster and gracelessly, but with longer legs and the ease of a lifetime spent balancing on ice.

“You call this winter? This is balmy—practically springy!” He swept his other arm across the clear blue sky, open parka flapping in the icy wind that cut across the ridge. It never felt like winter to him as long as the sun was up. True winter passed by moonlight. “Island life is pretty sweet.”

As if dodging the war like airbenders hadn’t been enough good fortune, Kyoshi Island’s temperate climate was practically _engineered_ to maximize human survival—half the year in bringing in harvests, forests full of furry game the other half, and fish all around. Favorable currents and fertile soil. Something to do with having the Avatar create your homeland, he figured. Astonishing feats of tectonic bending brought Aang’s Rift to mind. Horrible execution, but maybe the outcome could be just as fortuitous? He wondered how things were going for the Fifth Nation.

Suki kept her hand in his as they followed the path around a large outcropping to a sheltered spot on the lee of the ridge, facing east and overlooking the Suki’s village and the far below harbor. Sokka swung his knapsack off his pack to set up their meal, and Suki eyed the frigid ground dubiously. Sokka acknowledged her doubts with a wink and drew out a white fur—thick, fluffy, and large enough for two to sit on.

“Arctic camel. We shall dine in comfort, O Faithless One.” 

A shadow crossed Suki’s face at what he'd called her, and her eyes were drawn upwards towards the island’s highest peak. He turned to look.

“What’s up that way?”

“The Shrine to the Avatar. Where we make an offering to the Avatar Spirit each Solstice.”

“That’s cool. Does Aang come for that?”

“Um…I don’t think he ever has. I guess we’d just give him the offering directly if he did? It’s not _useful_ things, usually, just symbolic. It would be a little weird. The ceremony is so solemn and sacred and—” her face cracked into a grin “—can you imagine honoring that adorable goofball in such a way? It’s like the two beings don’t connect in my mind.”

They did in Sokka’s mind. “I guess you haven’t seen his Avatar side as much as I have, but he’s the real deal. Remember the comet battle…?”

Suki was silent _,_ still staring at the peak, tangled emotions written across her face. Something was really bugging her. “Do you want to go see the shrine?”

So, he’d been thinking lighthearted jaunt with a nice view, some delicious snacks, maybe a little tonsil hockey after, and now they were going to go worship at the shrine to their best friend and contemplate his eternal spirit. He sighed inwardly. Sure, why not.

“Let’s eat first, ok?”

They laid out the generous spread of dried fish and squid, wizened apples, pork dumplings, and rice balls wrapped in crisp, salty seaweed. Plus a bag of turtleseal blubber the crew of the Candra had brought back from their last hunt—Suki passed on that, her loss. They shared a small bottle of fizzy rice wine.

“Any luck with Governor Eita?” 

Suki shook her head. “I had tea with her again, but every time I mention the South Pole, she dodges it and changes the subject.”

“What is her problem? All I want to do is _talk_ about an agreement, and she won’t even _see_ me. Not like I’m gonna force her to sign at swordpoint!”

“I know.”

A couple of hours later, they had made their way along the shoulder of the mountain to the summit—and even Sokka had to admit it was a bit too blustery up there for comfort. He tucked Suki under his arm to keep her warm. Her body heat didn’t do him any harm, either. 

The Avatar’s Shrine was solid stone, seven or eight feet tall, in the same steeply pointed shape as the village houses, but it was—or had been—ornately carved. Over the years, relentless winds had worn down all the detail and rounded the edges, so that it looked like it was shaped from soft snow. It was partly sheltered on its northern side by the last rocky outcrop of the mountain peak, but the strongest storms came from the south. An altar was carved into the shrine, with two shallow wells carved into that.

“One for fire, one for water,” Suki explained, pointing to each basin. “The shrine is of earth, and the air is all around.”

“It’s really old.”

“I think it was built when Kyoshi died, but it might be older than that. I like to think we’ve been doing it forever, even when we were part of the mainland. We—the Warriors—have the duty of carrying the offering up here and performing the ritual. I’ve done it, what, twenty times, at least? Twice a year, ever since I was big enough to climb the mountain. It was…mystical, like we were reaching out to another world. And sad, yet beautiful. Because the Avatar was gone….”

Sokka nodded. They might not have such serious practices in the Southern Water Tribe (at least, not any that were still remembered), but he knew the feeling, in the hush that would fall in the flickering firelight, when tales of the Avatar began during the endless storytelling of the Long Night. When the Avatar was only an abstract concept, a source of pure hope that might never return.

“So…do you wanna pray or something?” he asked awkwardly.

Suki squeezed his waist reassuringly—or gratefully?— where her arm had slipped around him under his parka. “I just wanted to remember.”

Here, at the highest point on the Island, they could see everything: the entire island—every village and farmstead—at the center of a disc of platinum, sparkling silver in the low-angled, winter sunlight under an infinite dome of pale blue. To the north, the cliffs the island had cleaved from, though blessedly too far to make out The Worst Village Ever that sat on top. A dark line stretched along the eastern horizon, ruffled by distant mountains: the Earth Kingdom mainland, less than a day’s sail. Whale Tail Island, now the Fire Nation’s furthest outpost, was visible to the west. To the southwest, he could just make out the spired peaks where the Southern Air Temple hid. And somewhere, far beyond the southern horizon, lay his own homeland. Avatar Kyoshi had placed her island within the embrace of all four nations. On purpose?

“Nice view up here.”

“Sokka, Master of the Understatement.”

He squeezed her back. “All right, _you_ put this into words.”

Suki laughed. “I can’t, you know it. It’s pretty amazing.”

“We’re at the center of the world!” A strange elation lifted him and he let out a wild whoop. He bounded towards the rocky outcrop, intending to plant his foot on the mountain's highest point and claim it for the Kingdom of Sokka and Suki. But halfway up, he hit a small patch of scree and slipped. He grabbed at a pointed rock to prevent an embarrassing faceplant—it jutted out like a convenient handle, which maybe was what it actually was because it moved, and without warning the earth dropped away beneath his feet and he was falling into darkness.

“Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit” ran through his mind on the way down, but what came out of his mouth was more like “AAAAAAH!” It was a whole lot of shits down, silenced with an abrupt slam of pain. He lay crumpled on the floor in shock before air found its way back into his lungs. 

“Sokka!!” Suki’s voice sounded far above, genuinely frightened. 

“It’s ok! I’m ok!” He did an inventory to see if it was true. All limbs still attached, no arterial blood gushing forth. 

“Oh, thanks to Kyoshi!”

Sokka shifted and a stab of blinding pain shot through his leg. “Except for my…uh…knee.” He tested it. “Again.”

“How far down are you?”

“Pretty far.” He could see Suki’s head and shoulders far above, silhouetted in a tiny square of blue sky and tried to judge the distance by the size of her head. “Three, four body lengths?” 

“Can you move? Can you climb?”

Sokka shifted over his good leg to leverage his weight, wincing—not a nice feeling, but not as bad as last time, so his knee probably wasn’t broken—and hauled himself part way up.

“On all fours now.” Well, threes. Daylight only illuminated the patch of cave floor directly below the hole; the walls were lost in the shadows beyond.

He sidled to the left, feeling his way, until the sandy floor vanished under his hand. He fell back with an awkward scramble and listened to pebbles bouncing down, down, down. He wasn’t sure if they hit bottom or just got too distant to hear. Not that way, then.

As his eyes adjusted, he could make out more of this space. He had fallen onto a level strip of the cave floor about six feet wide. On either side, it fell off steeply into the darkness. Good luck, for once. He could have gone the way of those pebbles.

“I don’t think climbing’s really an option,” he called up. This is why you always packed a good rope.

“Do we have any rope?” she asked.

“Great minds think alike, Suki my love. And our great minds didn’t think to bring any. Plus, I have the backpack down here.” 

“Right.”

Suki reached down into the hole, groping for some way to climb down, but the walls were far out of reach and she touched nothing but rock ceiling and open space.

“Well, there’s nothing for it. I’ll have to hike back down the mountain for rope. Sit tight, Sokka. It’s a good thing you have the snacks.”

“Thanks, Suki—I love you!” But she was already gone.

Sokka settled down and reconciled himself to a dark and boring couple of hours. At least he was out of the wind. And Suki was right about the importance of snacks.

His patience lasted about twenty minutes. Honestly, he was disappointed in himself that it took that long before he realized that the walkway was actually manmade. Or man-smoothed, anyway. Or womanmade. Or whatever. The human hand had been at work here.

If this was intentionally shaped, then there had to be a way out. (Unless there was a Totally Underground Tribe he’d never heard about.) The walkway was on a slight grade, so he followed it in the upward direction, crawling cautiously into the darkness, favoring his throbbing knee. Standing and limping would likely lead to a stumble and a mortifying fall into heart of the mountain where he’d die a rueful death. Toph would find his bones there, deduce the whole farcical situation, and he’d never live it down. Because he would be dead.

He forgot to guard against a different danger, though.

 _Crack!_ Pain shot through his skull where it hit the stone wall in front of him. Right. In darkness you feel around in front of your face. Not just along the ground. 

When the splashes of color dancing in his eyeballs cooled, he checked to see where walkway went next. It couldn’t just end. Sure enough, to his left, he found stairs. One stair, anyway. He felt his way up to the next step. And then the step after that. And then the fourth step, hoping this was all well supported underneath. The staircase followed the wall upward, heading towards the hole he’d fallen through. A fifth step. This was going to be so embarrassing—why hadn’t he checked for this before Suki left? And a sixth— 

Nope.

He yanked his hand back from the abyss where the next step should have been, crumbled bits of the edge pinging down beyond hearing range. Further assessment revealed that there were no more intact stairs within reach.

With nothing better to do, he set out to explore the other end of the walkway. This time, however, he stopped in the patch of daylight under the trapdoor (clearly what it was) to rig up a little lantern out of a bootlace, a ladle and several cubes of turtle-seal blubber. (It was unclear to him why there was a ladle in his bag, but not a rope. No doubt he’d had a valid reason at some point).

And a good thing, because on the lower end, the path was longer and rounded a bend, blocking out the last of the daylight from above. The light of his tiny, fatty flame didn’t reach far, but at least it gave him plenty of warning before the end.

This wall was different. It was a real wall, flat-planed and perpendicular to the floor, with fancy designs carved all over it. He slowly got to his feet (foot) and as he rose, he traced his fingers along the refined lines cut into the limestone—still sharp and clear down here, no erosion. Their shadows grew and shifted under his pathetic little flame, animating grotesque features across the wall. Because, as he leaned back for a better view, features is what they were. A giant face of sorts. He didn’t quite understand the details, but the eyes were unmistakable: a huge pair of almond-shaped eyes, without iris or pupil, staring across the void into the Spirit World. 

The Avatar.

Eagerly he explored all the grooves and bumps and bobbles that he could reach. This was not a dead end. No way was this a dead end. He _had_ to see what was on the other side; all other goals shrank to irrelevance. Odds were, this was one of those doors only a bender could open—they always were—but he’d outsmarted one before (well, almost). There—one little lever secreted behind a ridge. And over here, a depression that moved. Together…nope. He kept trying.

In the end, it took two hands, both feet and his nose, but he got it. The massive wall slid open just wide enough for one man to enter. Scooping up his ladle lamp, he took a breath and stepped inside, careful to take off one boot and wedge it in the doorway. (You never knew, with these secret passages.)

The room was small, only a few steps to the center, and even his meager light reached the wall. Technically, there was only one wall, because it was a perfect circle. The ceiling was out of sight. But the important part was what was _on_ the wall: shelves. Shelves and shelves and shelves, broken up with a few drawers and cupboards, and filling all the shelves, stacks of scrolls, books, sheaves of paper, and even what appeared to be stone tablets.

Sokka began shuffling around the room, tentatively fingering the shelves (no dust). A few random artifacts and minor weapons served as bookends. He pulled a scroll from the shelf here, another one there, scanning their titles. This side of the room seemed to be mostly bending treatises, one section for each element.

Opposite, he found titles less easy categorize—downright eclectic: “The Oneness of the Universe,” “Adorable Spirits I Have Known: Flying Rainbow Kittens to Dragonfly Bunnies,” “Concise History of the Five Nations” ( _five,_ not four), “Portals to the Spirit World: A Transdimensional Atlas,” “Care and Feeding of the Mongoose Lizard,” “Avoiding the Void, and Other Ways We Bind Ourselves to the Wheel of Suffering.” He opened a drawer. It was filled with a collection of old toys, such as a toddler might play with. Weird.

Some of the authors’ names seemed to ring a bell, though he couldn’t place them: Arashi, Yangchen…. Kyoshi. Ok, Kyoshi. She had written: “On the Formation of the Dai Li of Ba Sing Se, Protectors of the Past and Guardians of the Future: A Rationale for the Policing of Culture.” Yikes.

And at that point, his lamp guttered and went out. Awesome.

Resigned, Sokka settled down onto the floor in a veritable treasure trove of mysteries, unable to do anything but stare into the darkness and wait for Suki.

An hour later, maybe longer, he finally heard her calling his name.

“Down here! Follow the walkway!”

“There you are!” She slipped into the chamber illuminating it all the way up to the domed ceiling high above with her much better lantern. _So many beautiful books._ “What _is_ this place?”

“You tell me, Suki. I’m new here.”

“How—how did you get in there!?” A male voice blustered behind her, and a moment later, Oyaji squeezed through the door. “You must leave at once!”

Suki scanned the shelves quickly and then froze with a sharp gasp. “Is this—?”

Oyaji gave a rattled sigh of exasperation. “The Avatar’s Library. Yes.”

“It’s not a legend…?”

The old man flapped his arms in consternation. “As you can see, it is not! It is, however, a _secret_. Now, out with you. Out out out out out!” And he made to shoo them out like pig-chickens. 

Suki helped Sokka up and guided him to the door, shouldering his weight on the injured side.

“But—!” He twisted back, reaching out to the books with longing. 

“No way, Sokka. You heard Oyaji.” And Suki was actually pretty strong, so he didn’t argue. Much.

On the way back down the mountain, Oyaji fumed a bit—“It was a locked door—a _secret_ door. Didn’t that tell you something? _‘Do not enter,’_ perhaps? What kind of person breaks into a locked door in someone else’s home? Are you a _pirate?!”—_ and then calmed down a bit for some useful information: “Just how did you open it, anyway? It should have been impossible.” And then had to sit down a while to recover from the stitch in his side he’d got from laughing so hard. 

Sokka took the opportunity to grill Oyaji on what the deal was with this hidden library anyway.

“It’s a secret library—secret! The Avatar’s repository of knowledge, for his or her use _exclusively_. We are charged with guarding it.” 

“So does Aang know about this? He’s never mentioned it.”

“Well, he wouldn’t, would he, Sokka?” Suki blinked at him. 

“The Library is revealed only to a fully realized Avatar.” 

“Which Aang is!”

“Mmm…” Oyaji waffled. “Normally, the Avatar reaches such a level in his twenties, and therefore has also achieved a certain level of maturity and stability as well. We were going to wait till then. Our Aang is not…hm…particularly precocious at keeping confidences.” 

“Good point,” Suki observed.  

“But now that we know, we can tell him, right? I mean, his twenties—that’s years away!”

Oyaji freaked out again. “No! How did you come to that conclusion? You-you _ice pirate_ , you!”

Sokka raised an index finger. “Actually, pirates are well known for their ability to guard secrets. Can you say ‘buried treasure’? Ow!” Suki “accidentally” jostled him, jabbing her sheathed fan right into his gut.

Oyaji grumbled disapproval in the back of his throat and drew his shoulders back to formally proclaim, “We will swear you to secrecy. Suki, on your oath to the Kyoshi Warriors. And you, Sokka, on your loyalty to Suki.”

“Understood, Oyaji.” Suki bowed, with a surreptitious whack to Sokka’s butt. 

Accepting defeat, Sokka bowed, too. “I promise.” This was going to be very, very difficult.

計

* * *

扇

 

Oyaji was not satisfied with a mere roadside oath, however, and took them straight to the Governor’s house for a consultation. Suki and Sokka were left awkwardly twiddling their thumbs on the porch while Oyaji debriefed Eita as to the situation. 

“I’m sorry, Suki,” Sokka said softly. “I’ve really blown it this time, haven’t I?”

He wasn’t wrong. But… “I’m sure it will all work out in the end, Sokka,” she sighed. “You were just being you.”

“And Governor Eita already dislikes me.” 

“No, she doesn’t. She finds you…charming,” Suki prevaricated. Sokka raised his eyebrows to his hairline, seeing right through her euphemism for “laughable.”

“She still likes _you_ , though. Right? What do you two talk about when you’re avoiding South Pole trade agreements, anyway?”

“Oh, some about my time in the Fire Nation, international politics and stuff. And a lot about old times.” 

“Like…Avatar Kyoshi times?”

“Not _that_ old,” she corrected him, laughing. “I just mean before my time. What it was like back then, with the last generation of Kyoshi Warriors. She was very close to them.” So close, in fact, that sometimes Suki suspected she had been one of them. And the way she moved…. But Eita couldn’t have been a Kyoshi Warrior, or she would have perished along with everyone else. And yet, that look of near-anguish that passed over her face when the tragedy was mentioned—it was different from the other elders, a personal sort of anger… _shame._ She gasped. “What if Eita _was_ a Warrior, but broke with them!”

The Governor, of course, chose that moment to open her door and call them in. She made no sign that she had heard Suki’s outburst, but offered them floor cushions and cups of tea. They sipped in silence, until Suki decided to move things along.

“Governor Eita, Sokka and I would like to apologize for trespassing on sacred space today. You can trust us to honor our vow of secrecy.”

Sokka stood and bowed to the Governor, Earth Kingdom style. “It was all _my_ fault. Suki did nothing wrong—she simply rescued me when I stupidly fell into a hole. I stuck my nose in where it doesn’t belong and I apologize.”

“You are certainly very inquisitive,” Eita observed, suppressing a smile. “Something of a scholar, I hear, yet clearly a man of action and impulse. A Water Tribesman, and so a sailor, often abroad.”

“I…can’t argue with any of that.”

Eita continued, more sternly: “And you would like to draw us out, to have us share your outward-looking attitude. To throw our gates open and simply grab for what we want, like you do.” 

“Uh, yes, I do. So glad you brought that up—”

Eita held up a hand to silence him. “This curiosity and drive of yours makes it hard for you to understand our reluctance. But now you see what it is that we protect: the Avatar heritage itself. The treasure we hold is too precious to risk corruption by the shortsighted desires of mortal humans. It is for the eternal Avatar alone.”

“Wait—is _that_ why Avatar Kyoshi went to so much trouble to create this island?” Sokka seemed to be having one of his brain moments, his train of thought jumping the tracks. “I could never understand why she _ripped the earth apart_ to protect her village, when she could have just dropped a boulder on Chin the Conqueror and ended his campaign right there.”

Eita nodded. “And you’re a man of keen deduction. Indeed, she wanted us inaccessible and forgotten. The Library was known in certain elite circles in her time, and some past Avatars had even allowed others to enter. But when Avatar Kyoshi returned home after subduing the peasant rebellion in Ba Sing Se and creating the Dai Li, she took extra measures to protect her own heritage from the unworthy, and sank it into obscurity. Treasure hunters do not seek that which they’ve never heard of. See what became of Wang Shi Tong’s library, by allowing in those of impure motives!” Sokka visibly cringed. “That would never happen here.” 

“So you see why we cannot trust outsiders to roam freely over our island,” Oyaji scolded. “It will be for the Avatar to decide how much you should know. But until _he_ knows, you know nothing. Got it?” 

“I have to say, I’m finding this place kind of paradoxical,” Sokka mused, still pursuing his own line of reasoning. “You Kyoshi Islanders really do value learning—everyone’s been openly interested in Suki’s and my stories. But you’re afraid of that curiosity in others. I’m not saying you need to sell tickets to the Avatar’s treasure collection—keep a lock on that, if you have to—but there’s no need to shut _yourselves_ off so completely. The world could really benefit from your own wisdom—as a people. And you could learn a lot from the rest of the world. Things have changed.”

“Sokka’s right.” Time for Suki to make her stand. “I really think we should consider the trade agreement the Southern Water Tribe’s proposing. The war is over and we should be looking to the future. This is a time for openness and understanding.” 

“What’s this? Trade agreement?” Oyaji perked up. She’d totally mentioned it to him, and there was no way Sokka hadn’t. The old man was worryingly forgetful.

Sokka sighed, and took a breath to explain, but Eita spoke first.

“Maybe so. But it would be difficult for Kyoshi Island to re-forge such a bond with the Southern Water Tribe in particular.”

Oyaji and Eita exchanged a look, not of conspiracy, but of a father to a daughter. “It is particularly hard for _you,_ Eita,” he reminded her gently. “The younger folks scarcely remember.”

Eita frowned deeply. “Yes, I suppose I should tell them,” she replied to some unspoken request. “You guessed correctly, Suki: I was a Kyoshi Warrior, too.”

Chagrin at being overheard sank into Suki’s gut, which sunk further as the implications of Eita’s confession came clear.

“I was the second-in-command when the Southern Water Tribe came for help. The other Warriors eventually agreed to go fight, as you know. They had many reasons, but the most compelling—to me, at least—was the distinct possibility that any child waterbender could turn out to be the next Avatar. We didn’t know what had become of Aang. We didn’t know whether the Avatar Cycle had turned to the next nation yet. But to me, our duty to Kyoshi Island’s treasure was primary, of greater value to the eternal Avatar Spirit than any single incarnation, and the risks of warfare too great. So I held firm and broke with my sisters, at the cost of everyone I held closest to my heart.” 

Suki did not know what to say, horrified at the magnitude of such a choice—not made in the heat of battle, when loyalty and love would always prevail, but rationally, in cold blood. And then, even under the weight of all that the grief and guilt, she had held firm in her principles all this time.

“Eita was proved right, in the end.” Oyaji laid a wrinkled hand on Eita’s. “Our Warriors perished and Upas was destroyed. The risk had been far, far too great.” 

“But I was also wrong. I should have gone. Every day of my life, I have had to live with the regret and the doubt—with one more sword, would we have prevailed?” 

Oyaji shook his head, with a squeeze to her hand. “Be that as it may, we Islanders doubled down on our withdrawal from the world, and eventually chose Eita to govern, knowing she would not waver.” 

“And how could I refuse to serve? I have stood by my choice to protect this Island at all costs. So it is not merely conservatism, or even devotion to our duty, that keeps us closed and reluctant to accept the hand you offer, Sokka. It is also blood and grief and regret.” 

Even Sokka had no ready retort, brow furrowed with remorse and frustration.

“But I have already accepted the hand Sokka offers. And with love and optimism,” Suki found herself saying. “With all due respect, Governor, I believe you do not fully understand what is at stake, in this era. The Southern Water Tribe is not asking us for another sacrifice; they are opening the door to what we need. This is how we make our peace.”

Eita’s frown, listening to Suki, seemed not disapproving, but bemused, unsettled. “You have always said that it was for _love_ that you were breaking with your sisters. Love for Sokka.” 

“For love, yes. I want to share my heart, my bed, my life with this man. _This_ man.” She reached out and took his hand, and swallowed hard at the lump that came up in her throat when their eyes met. “But it is not because I love my sisters any less. Quite the contrary.” As she spoke, the pieces began to come together at last, assembling through her words. “The love of my sisters made me who I am, and gave my heart the strength reach beyond this island. And now I am linked to friends in each nation, and my heart has grown big enough to hold them all. Their cares are my cares. Their fate is my fate. 

“If that means that I can no longer be a part of Kyoshi Island, then so be it. It is already done. But I would rather bring you with me.”

 

扇

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Minimalist and vignettey" - ha! 
> 
> So that got out of hand. I had no intention of doing all that backstory, much less writing up almost 10,000 words. It just sort of ... happened. I mean, with lots and lots and lots of rewrites, trying to get it to cohere and not get mired in too many irrelevant diversions. But now I have this major Avatar thingy that I hadn't really planned on. Very possibly I won't deal with it again until Book 6. 
> 
> And, as usual, I'm not totally confident of my characterization of Suki or her relationship with Sokka. But it's certainly getting more depth, one way or another. 
> 
> I have a much clearer idea of what I'm doing with the Toph chapter next. And that includes a clear idea that it will also be pretty long. More self-contained and plot-driven, though.
> 
>  
> 
> In chapters this complex, I'm realizing it could be helpful to list the callbacks:
> 
>   * Book 1: Water, Ep 4 "Kyoshi Island"
>   * Book 2: Earth, Ep 5 "Avatar Day"
>   * Escape from the Spirit World online comic/game
>   * Book 4: Harmony, Ch 3 "Harmony Restoration" ; Ch 7 "Letters, Year One" ; Ch 19 "Letters, Year 3" ; Ch 21 "Assumptions" ; Ch 23 "The Ten-Minute War" ; Ch 25 "Farewells"
>   * Book 5: Purity, Ch 5 "Other Halves"
> 



	10. INVESTIGATIONS: The Hit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Year 4, May  
>  _** _**Yu Dao/The Fifth Nation**_
> 
> _Toph meets cute, talks politics, and witnesses a murder._
> 
> _Toph POV_

 

石

 

Toph was on a consulting call at Jade Mountain Forge when the kid showed. Strolled into the storefront on the scent of sandalwood and green tea, like he just happened to be passing by, tossing the hair from his eyes and idly fingering the metalwork trinkets on display. His touch was sensitive, thoughtful. She couldn’t know if his eyes were on her, but his attention pressed at her back, not to mention the heartbeat hammering a little too fast for window shopping.

She stood in the workshop at the rear, facing away from the open doorway to the adjoining store, and gave no sign she’d noticed him. She kept up her conversation with Kollan, the bladesmith who’d called her in today.

“Nope, this is not the same as the sample they brought you last week. Riddled with impurities. They charged you the same, huh?”

“Swore it came from the very same vein,” the bladesmith confirmed, with a tense set of the jaw.

“Fraud. Tell the guild to block them, on Toph’s warrant.” She’d keep an eye out for the swindler herself and see to it his days in the Yu Dao market were over.

“That’s all the verification they’ll need. You’re trusted in these streets, Master Toph. But if Yu Dao’s going to be a _nation_ , it’s going to need more than _personal trust_ to go on. If we’re going to support our industries and build up international trade.” Kollan hammered his words home with earnest conviction.

“So, what? Some kind of citywide inspection system?”

“Exactly. Certification procedures, run by the government, like the Fire Nation used to do.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a platform.”

“I care about this community, Toph. And its reputation for quality workmanship. So I have your vote?”

“I don’t live in the Industrial District, Kollan, but I can spread the word, give you a boost.”

“Your endorsement would mean a great deal.”

“Sure thing.” She waited, still watching Velvet in the other room through the soles of her feet, as he watched her.

“Ah, your fee. The usual?”

“Aw, 5% discount this time, for a regular. Simple job.” Velvet picked up a knife and absently slid it in and out of its jeweled sheath. Toph, very professionally, did not snigger.

“Very generous of you, Master Toph.” The bladesmith rummaged through a small money chest to count out the correct amount, placing it in her waiting hand.

She waved her thanks and turned to go.

“Velvet! What brings you to this side of town?” She feigned surprise, just as she had the last two “chance” encounters.

“Master Toph? Imagine meeting you here! I was looking to…purchase a new dagger. Do you…um, work here?”

“Just a gig. That’s a nice one. A bit fancy, though. Kind of invites trouble.”

“Ah, good point. Yes, maybe something plainer?”

“What’s wrong with the one you’ve got?”

“Nothing, really. I just…can you really have too many?”

“Right…. _Amazing_ how many times we’ve run into each other this week.” A girl would say that coquettishly. From Toph it was more of an implied accusation.

“Oh, uh, is it? It is! It _is_ amazing. We must have a lot of interests in common! We should talk about them. Would you like to talk? Maybe some tea, I do enjoy tea. Do you like tea? With me? Ifyouhavetime, maybetoday?” The words tumbled out like gravel from a bucket, faster and faster. Toph tactfully suppressed a snort of laughter. Because—and this was weird—she sort of did care about not hurting his feelings. She took mercy on him.

“Meet me at the Tea Brick in an hour.”

She waltzed out to the off-kilter beat of his confused little heart.

 

* * *

 

Her consulting calls done for the day, Toph ambled through of the Industrial District towards the city center, returning friendly hails, on her way to the venerable tea house.

She could feel the kid’s anticipation before she stepped through the door. 

“Master Toph!” He waved her over immediately—not a subtle finger-flick that she might have missed, but a full-body undulation. “The hostess said you prefer to sit in the back, but would you mind terribly if we sit by the window today? It’s a beautiful day, and I love to watch the passersby.”

She could understand that, even if she didn’t personally need a window to keep a bead on the scene. And she couldn’t deny the pleasure of the spring breeze. “No problem. And call me Toph. Just Toph.”

There was less harmony on the tea choice. She ordered her usual, a brew from fermented, pressed tea, with an earthy aroma and a punch of caffeine—the eponymous “brick” the house was known for. Velvet recoiled at the bitterness in his first taste, but forced it down. 

“Not your cup of tea?” She groaned inwardly and smacked down her inner Sokka.

“It’s fascinating. Very…dark. I’m used to rather a greener brew.”

“Next time you go back to Ba Sing Se, I’ll point you to the best cup of jasmine you’ve ever had.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a tea connoisseur.”

“I have layers, Velvet.”

“So do I.”

Their banter stuttered to a halt, on that suggestive note, and neither knew where to take it from there. They recovered at the same time, words tumbling over each other:

—“So if I peel back the brocade—”

— “Are you from this area originally?”

They stopped abruptly.

— “I’m not wearing brocade.”

— “You know I'm not.”

Words collided awkwardly again. This time, the kid took her hand—she almost flinched, it was so unexpected—and guided it to his sleeve.

“See? Just linen.”

Very fine-woven linen, with the luxuriously soft drape that comes only after years of wear, but yeah, just linen.

“I did wear this, just for you,” he smiled. And tugged her hand gently upward to feel the trim on his overtunic. Velvet.

Toph laughed. She couldn’t help it, and it had the benefit of covering for her lack of a quippy comeback. What was wrong with her, flatfooted and tongue-tangled? It wasn’t like he was her type, not even close. She liked them brash and rugged and in-your-face. Salt of the earth. Kiza couldn’t even handle strong tea—bandit bait. He came from the _right_ side of the tracks, and on up the hill from there. To be fair, he seemed to be making a decent effort at breaking free of the gilded shackles. Not his fault the Avatar hadn’t dropped by to sweep him off his feet to take him to war. Though he _had_ been rescued by a compelling earthbending hero….

Velvet hadn’t let go of her hand. Her pulse was getting unnervingly jumpy, in complex counterpoint with the fluttering his had been doing all along.

“Toph?”

A diversion! She yanked her hand back to answer the woman with a cheery wave across the room. “Nendo! Come join us!”

Though only in her mid-twenties, Nendo was shockingly professional and competent, to the point that one would assume she’d be about as much fun to hang out with as a masonry textbook. But there was something genuine about her that Katara and Aang had recognized right away, back when they rescued her from a mob of angry villagers near the Fire Nation colony of Palgan. She truly cared about her responsibilities and would go to the wall doing right by them. And against all odds, she had a sense of humor.

“Thanks, Toph. Don’t mind if I do. You’re in a good mood today. But who wouldn’t be with such fine company?”

“Nice to see you off the clock, Nendo.”

“Barely. I’m done with my last meeting of the day, though. I saw you two through the window and figured I deserve a break before starting in on the paperwork. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Not a thing! You know Velvet?”

“Sure! Kiza’s a frequent guest at Ginna’s.” That made sense. Nendo’s wife ran a modest but respectable inn near the city gates.

“And how could I not know Councilwoman Nendo? Champion of the working man?”

Nendo blew him off with a self-deprecating snort. “I’m nobody important.”

“Sure you’re not.” Toph ribbed Nendo. “What do you wanna bet she’s president in a few years?” Nendo had won her election just months after showing up in Yu Dao as a colonial refugee during the Harmony Restoration period.

“No.” She sliced the air in a decisive gesture. “I simply had the right skillset at the right time. I’ll be back to a nice, steady position as a building inspector as soon as my term is up—foundations and girders and things I understand.” She sounded downright wistful about that. “What are you up to these days, Toph? Are you making a living?”

“I consult. Here and there.”

“By which you mean…telling people what to do?”

“They ask, I tell: consulting. Materials analysis for masons and foundries. Bending arts academies sometimes—everyone wants to learn metalbending, but it never really goes well.” She shook her head. Most students just couldn’t _see_ the metal, and Toph couldn’t give eyes to the blind. “I judge some tournaments, too, do a little coaching every now and then—but I command a high fee for that, since I’m undefeatable.”

“Not bad _._ You’ve built a strong reputation in this city—I’m glad you’re making it pay.”

Toph shrugged with a nonchalance she didn't always feel in her determination never to turn to her parents for help. “I fill my time. I do a lot of pro bono stuff, too. Not everyone can pay for what they need, you know. _Justice_ is in especially short supply these days.”

Nendo sighed. “Don’t I know it. It’s disintegrating into a free-for-all, since the Fire Nation left. I thought I’d already seen the dirt under the Council table, but it’s deeper than I knew. It’s all getting kicked up now.”

“It can’t be as corrupt as Ba Sing Se,” Velvet protested.

“I couldn’t say. All I know is what I see: the powerful preying on the weak, like it’s their _job.”_

“It _is_ their job. That’s what power is.”

“Not at all, Toph. That’s _abuse_ of power. Using it for the wrong things.  Think of Avatar Aang, the most powerful man in the world. What does he use it for?”

“That’s a different kind of power.” Or was it? Could the Avatar be corrupted? Well, not _Aang_ , but another one—it must be tempting, sometimes.

“But that’s what the new government is supposed to solve. Better laws. Better enforcement. _New leadership.”_

“Clear the decks and start fresh.” Toph agreed, in theory. But all systems can be gamed. “Here’s hoping.” She pushed her cup forward.

Nendo obligingly poured again for all three, then raised her cup. “To our city. And to the Fifth Nation.”

They drank together.

“Councilwoman Nendo, what can you tell us about the transition?” The kid leaned forward earnestly. “What is the new government going to look like?”

“Yeah, fill us in on the political machinations at the Governor’s Palace.”

Nendo let out a dry huff of something like laughter, bitter as the tea. “Machinations? I hope I didn’t give you the impression that the Council actually knows what it’s doing. It’s more like mud wrestling. Fortunately, after the elections this month, the City Council proper is free of that business. For the Interim Fifth Nation Congress, IFNaCon?”

“Well aware, Nendo. I’m not _deaf._ But you must have a rough sketch or something to hand over to the new Congress, after five months of work. An outline for the new government.”

Nendo groaned and planted her face in her hands. “If only. The first three weeks were spent just coming up with a _name_ for the Congress.”

“And _that’s_ what you came up with?”

“And the rest of the time we spent arguing about how to choose its members. In fairness, we’ve still had a city to run, day to day business.”

“I thought that was decided with the Ten-Minute War Treaty—democratic vote.”

“That’s only step one, Kiza. How do we make sure all the critical constituencies are represented? And none of them are _over_ -represented? Everyone’s got a different stake in it. And since some weren’t represented on the City Council at all, like the villagers in the Yu Dao Valley, some of us had to advocate for them and make sure they have a voice. We won that one. There will be three rural representatives: North Valley, South Valley, and Foothills.”

“And then the rest by district from the city, four urban representatives to outnumber the three rural?” 

“Yes—but geography isn’t the only way to divide it up. The Fire Nation sympathizers wanted to make sure that Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation get equal representation, but then someone brought up the Water Tribes, because of the Water ex-pats living here, and prediction that the community will grow. Then the Air Acolytes showed up, and there was a _huge_ debate over them, since they aren’t properly members of the Air Nation at all. So, we now have one seat for each of the four nations—with quite a bit of controversy over the Air seat. How does someone _qualify_ to represent a given nation? That’s still really unclear.”

“Why represent the nations at all? Won’t we all be citizens of the Fifth Nation?” Toph asked.

Nendo shook her head. “Sure, but heritage, culture—the differences don’t just go away. Not to mention the primacy of the elements—even in the lives of nonbenders. And then there’s class! In the colonial days, it seemed simple: Fire Nation citizens above and the Earth Kingdom citizens below. But now that that’s broken down, it turns out that wealthy Earth Kingdom elite often have interests more aligned with the Fire Nation elite, and a lot of Fire Nation laborers are fighting for their rights alongside workers from other nations. Especially now that PEL is in town, pushing their agenda on the streets.”

“People’s Earth Liberation? The old Freedom Fighters? I thought they were only allowed to operate here as a ‘charitable organization’?”

“Yeah, but that covers education. And they do a lot of, frankly, very effective education. _Class-conscious_ education _._ They’re not quite reaching the Council—yet. We ended up rejecting the idea of representation by economic class, for now. But Smellerbee’s running for the North Valley seat.” 

“I heard she was up against the Mother Superior,” Kiza offered. “And that the Abbey is beloved—and well funded?”

“No disrespect to the holy women, but Smellerbee’s running circles around the Reverend Mother in mobilization of votes—and it’s sheer numbers that will count. I think PEL has it in the bag, so economic class definitely isn’t off the table. And then there are benders! Because obviously benders have higher status and more _personal_ power, at the very least, than non-benders. So do we put in something to prevent benders from claiming too much political power?”

“Like…a limit on seats or something?”

“Basically. However, there’s a faction that’s taken the Avatar’s pronouncement that the Fifth Nation was always supposed to be a haven for non-benders to heart and wants to guarantee Yu Dao for non-benders and keep _all_ benders out of the government completely.”

“What? How is that fair? It’s not like the other nations _are_ controlled by benders. Not necessarily.” 

“You can’t deny that benders concentrate among the elite and powerful, Toph. There’s a reason for that.”

“Aang also named ‘the ones who can find no home in the Four Nations’ and I’m not leaving this city! Yu Dao would be nothing without its benders. All those crafts industries? Not to mention defense! You can’t bar us from holding office. Can you?”

“It’s complicated. In the end, we came up with a quota of no more than 25% benders in elected seats—roughly equivalent to the proportion in the population. And if the vote comes back with more than that, then we’ve come up with this ridiculously complicated way of rebalancing it, going to runners-up and run-off elections. Hardly anyone is happy with this solution, honestly.”

Toph’s head reeled. She took another sip of the bracing brew. “That is a fucking _mess_ , Nendo. I am never, ever, ever going to work in government. You don’t need to worry about _this_ bender getting into politics.”

They were interrupted by a loud, rhythmic clanging in the street outside, and the marching, dancing, leaping feet of dozens—no, hundreds—punctuated with random horn blasts. Toph had heard them blocks away, hoping that’s where they would stay. No such luck.

“It’s not a protest, is it?”

Velvet craned his neck out the open window. “They don’t appear to be angry. It’s certainly political, but festive, I'd have to say. The marchers are waving multicolored streamers and carrying signs and banners: ‘Fifth Nation, First Democracy!’” he read aloud, presumably for Toph’s benefit. “‘Rainbow Nation’…‘Lahar is our Future!’”

“Are you a supporter?”

“It is nearly impossible not to like her.”

“Of course it’s possible.”

“Come on, Toph,” Nendo admonished her. “She stands for everything you want for Yu Dao! She’s passionate, caring, knows this city inside and out—she’s even pretty.”

“Oh, she’s a cutie, all right.” Toph waited a beat. Nendo didn’t even notice, the bureaucrat. Velvet stifled a giggle behind his hand. Aristocrat. Toph cracked a half grin. “Sure, I back her all the way. You think I’d vote for her _opponent?”_ Gow’s supporters dug his tough common sense—and how he held his ground and never backed down. That’s what they said, anyway. Brick walls don’t back down either, and have about as much brains. Toph shrugged. “Just saying, she’s not a universal favorite.”

“Maybe not, but she looks well favored enough to me. She would certainly have _my_ vote, if I were in her district.”

“There’s a little bit of everybody out there,” Velvet mused, almost to himself. “It’s so strange—unsettling, even—to be unable to tell them apart, as if the nations no longer mattered.” He stiffened, alert, as if suddenly catching sight of something or someone,

“If you’re done with your tea, why don’t we join them?” Nendo urged them with a grin, not noticing the kid's reaction, quickly concealed.

 _I'm not a joiner,_ Toph waffled privately. But she liked to see Nendo so enthusiastic, so she caved. “All right. What about you, kid?”

“Ah, no, I’d better not. There’s something I need to take care of now," his tone studiously nonchalant.

“But it’s part of the political process,” Nendo argued. “The _fun_ part!”

“It’s not really _my_ process, though, since I don’t live here, not officially. I’m not eligible to vote.” He fidgeted with his tea cup, turning it round and round.

“Suit yourself, kid,” Toph shrugged. Something was up with him. Or maybe he was simply allergic to crowds, the same as her.

Velvet gave himself a little shake and brightened up again, like the shadow had never been there. “My day can hardly be improved from an hour spent in the company of such esteemed and captivating ladies. But Lahar’s oratory will surely eclipse my humble discourse.” And he bowed elegantly and took his leave. So maybe not rejecting his posh roots unequivocally. 

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they’d paid and stepped into the street, Toph expected to be at the tail end of the procession, but there were dozens more behind them. Like a snake on a caffeine rush, Lahar’s chain of voters danced and wriggled their way towards the plaza in front of the Governor’s Palace. 

They stepped into the broad, stone-paved square and it was too much, _too much_ —packed with people, far more than just the ones in the march. The cacophony, not just of voices, drums, gongs, and noisemakers, but footsteps, bodies rubbing up against each other, lungs, and heartbeats. Private conversations, burps, and body odor. Toph pressed her fists together and focused on her breathing, practicing the meditation techniques Aang had taught her long ago—essential to urban living, she’d found. After a couple minutes of that, she could gradually return her attention to her surroundings—selectively.

Lahar was already standing on the stone dais at one corner of the plaza firing up the crowd.

“Citizens of Yu Dao!”

The crowd responded with a roar and cacophonous banging of anything handy. In front of Toph, a group of laborers done with their workday—burly, stinky guys—clanged their trowels and hammers. A family with three small children stood to her left, the smallest on their father’s shoulders, clapping wildly. A cluster of teenage girls off to the right screamed and giggled, clutching at each other.

“Do we wish to be ruled by the Fire Lord?”

“No!”

“Do we wish to be ruled by the Earth King?”

“No!”

“Do we wish to be ruled by _anyone at all?”_

_“No!!”_

“Then who will rule us?”

“We will!”

“Citizens of the Fifth Nation, are you ready to take command of your fate?”

“We are!”

“On June First, what will you do?”

“Vote! Vote! Vote!”

Nendo stood at Toph’s elbow, bouncing a bit on her toes to see over the crowd. Somewhere behind her and to the left, Toph sensed a familiar, light heartbeat. At first, she thought it was Aang. 

“Citizens the Fifth Nation, so chosen by the Avatar!”

A bit of a stretch—he had simply given the new nation the chance to exist, not chosen its people. But the crowd had no head for nuance and cheered. 

“Citizens of the Fifth Nation, you have been charged with a mission unique in the history of the world!”

Unnecessary cheers. Lahar motioned for everyone to quiet down, with wide sweeps of her arms.

“For more than a hundred years, this city has been unique in the world. We have thrived in here our fertile rice bowl between the sea and the mountains. It is no wonder that those looking for a better life have always come here—traders, colonists, refugees. We could have turned them away, we could have built higher walls to protect our prosperity. But we didn’t.

"Yu Dao is unique. The Fire Nation’s first colony on the Eastern Continent…” A smattering of boos and hisses warred with a few belligerent war whoops—provocateurs, or just assholes. “…we became a hybrid, a bridge unlike anything that had come before. And as the Fire Nation spread its blood into the Earth Kingdom—blood shed in violence, and blood shared in colonial families—it was Yu Dao that held open its gates to those in search of refuge.”

A relative hush had fallen over the audience now, absorbed in her flattering narrative.

“Yu Dao is unique. Here, earthbenders erect our strong walls and straight streets; firebenders power the forges and steam engines that fuel our economy. Sandbenders and firebenders cooperate to create the finest glass arts in the world. From the crucible of our diversity, we _innovate._

“And now we once again dare to imagine something the world has never seen. Together, we will bring to life—”

It shot past her so fast, Toph barely sensed it before Lahar froze, choking on her last word. The candidate lurched against the podium, her heart pounding against it erratically, desperate fingers clutching at it as her legs buckled beneath her.

Those nearest Lahar closed in on her protectively. Hands gripped her, supporting her, lifting her back to her feet. But that was the wrong thing to do, Toph knew intuitively. Lahar’s heart contracted and spasmed, fighting gravity.

“Lay her down! Give her space!” someone shouted. It was too late. By the time Lahar was stretched out on the platform, she was gone.

The plaza erupted in shouts and chaos. No one knew what had happened. Was Lahar ok? Was there a doctor? Who did this?

Armed guards shot through the crowd in all directions, wayward arrows seeking a target.

Lahar was dead. Toph knew this before anybody, and there was nothing she could do to change it. She could find that target, though.

The projectile had come from behind and to her left. Toph turned slowly in place, feeling for the reaction that was different. Nendo, beside her, had her hands pressed over her mouth, sucking in air in a sobbing kind of gasp. Too close to her, too loud.

“Shh, Nendo,” Toph said with dead calm. “Don’t hyperventilate. I need to hear.”

“Hear _what,_ Toph?” Nendo wailed. “Her heartbeat? She’s not dead?”

“I’m listening for the perpetrator. Quiet, please.”

People had a wide range of reactions to shock and violence. Toph had lots of experience with this—all war veterans did. Some people pushed forward, as if to help; a couple of people fainted, or collapsed against their neighbors. Some hearts raced, some hearts skipped beats. Some people lost all self-control, others took control of everyone around them.

Over there behind her was one a little different: holding him or herself perfectly still, pulse fluttering like a bird’s, muscles lax, yet ready to flee, or spring into action, waiting and watching. Oh, she knew this one well. But Velvet had said he couldn’t come—had he changed his mind? …Or lied?

She elbowed her way towards him, shoved off course by the father of the family next to her, intent on getting his kids to safety. Jerk—they weren’t in any danger. A whiff of sandalwood breezed past her—Velvet, fleeing, wriggling through the crowd towards the nearest alleyway like he had someplace to be.

Toph gave chase but another anomaly caught her attention: a heavy man, standing firm, a heartbeat pumping with excitement, but not fear. No uncertainty. Satisfaction? Pride? A pair of guards pushed him aside, he lost his footing and his pulse sped up as he melted into the press of bodies.

Toph almost bent the pavement, thinking to knock everyone down and pick through the bodies till she found both guys. But she didn’t—better to not show her hand, better not to triple the chaos and distress. Instead, she slipped through the crush, staying low, ducking swinging elbows and dodging stumbling feet, heading for the rear of the plaza. 

What she wouldn’t give for an airbender sidekick right now to bounce up and scan from above. She wasn’t sure if Flighty or Steady was her target. It didn’t matter. There was no direction, no pattern to the noisy, frantic bodies. If she’d had trouble filtering when she first got there, it was impossible now. She was blind here.

  

_To be continued...._

 

石 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Toph gets her own whodunnit, 4 chapters' worth! 
> 
> I'm sorry this took me so, so long to post. But now you know why I had to write out the whole arc before I could post the first chapter of it. (I'm still fudging it--the fourth chapter, Ch 16, is only outlined.) Tell you what, writing a murder mystery is haaarrrrrd - never mind a political one with a love interest. I think I got it to work....?
> 
> But I could probably use a beta reader, if anyone's interested? To check for plot holes and other inconsistency weirdness. Since you apparently can't get in touch with people on AO3, you'd have to message me on tumblr: https://tunnelrabbit.tumblr.com/ (I don't use tumblr - it makes me crazy - but I'm there.)
> 
> I love comments from everyone, though! Critical or otherwise!

**Author's Note:**

> This thing is all charted out, concluding in Year 6, but not as much of it actually drafted as I'd like--I have to be sure I know how a thing ends before I post its beginnings; sometimes there are surprises as I write. And it's (going to be) very long--so much for snapshot vignettes scooting through the years! 
> 
> But I got impatient and started posting anyway. 
> 
> So, no timeline for posting, but I will try to do it in chunks. There are around 20 chapters, each divided into 2 to 4 separate stories. Or maybe it's about 50 chapters, grouped into 20 sections. Anyhow, I'll at least try to get all of the stories in each section up no more than a week apart. 
> 
>  
> 
>  **Book 5: PURITY  
> **  
>  Table of Contents  
>  _(POVs in each chapter named in parentheses)_
> 
>  **I. DAUGHTERS**  
>  1\. Her Destiny (Azula)  
> 2\. Women's Work (Katara, Suki)  
> 3\. Azula's Recovery (Azula)
> 
>  **II. COMMITTED**  
>  4\. The New Fire Nation (Zuko, Aang)  
> 5\. Other Halves (Sokka, Katara, Kanna)  
> 6\. Smoke Screen (Azula)
> 
>  **III. HERO'S RETURN**  
>  7\. The AANG Scene (Aang, Toph)  
> 8\. Spoils of War (Zuko)  
> 9\. Kyoshi Roots (Suki, Sokka) 
> 
> **IV. INVESTIGATIONS**  
>  10\. The Hit (Toph)
> 
>  _.....coming soon:_  
>  11\. (Zuko)  
> 12\. The Case... (Toph)  
> 13\. A New Candidate (Toph)
> 
>  **V. HISTORIES**  
>  14\. The Jasmine Dragon (Iroh, Aang)  
> 15\. (Azula)  
> 16\. (Toph)  
>  **VI. LETTERS, Year 4  
> **  
> 


End file.
